Firestarter
by xLilim
Summary: Cecilia and Roy's relationship is purely physical until emotions get in the way and Roy becomes more interested in unraveling the truth about Cecilia's hidden past. Will he come to regret knowing the truth? Or will he use it to his advantage? And what will Cecilia do if she's discovered? RoyOC - ON HIATUS -
1. The Journalist and the Hero

**Disclaimer** : This will be the forever disclaimer, thus applies to every chapter of this story. I do not own Fullmetal Alchemist or its characters, Arakawa Hiromu does. I only claim ownership of the original character Cecilia Warren, any other original characters, and this humble fanfic.

This is the first of three Fullmetal Alchemist stories that I am working (going to be working on - others include, KimbleeOC and GreedlingOC). They're all based on a common theme and are also the result of me wanting to write something a little more adult in nature. I hope that I can do it well. I admit, I have never written for the FMA fandom before, so I am a bit nervous. Please wish me luck.

The story reads a little PWP, but I promise it is not all sex. Oh god.

I really just want to sit here and just apologized for this entire story, so I'm just going to get out. orz I PROMISE THERE IS A PLOT! It is not just sex!

It'll be a while for me to work out the kinks in writing characters, so yeah, sorry if Roy seems a bit OCC. I'm trying.

Enjoy.

* * *

 **Chapter 1** : The Journalist and the Hero

Cecilia Warren sat in the best seat of the tavern, upfront at the bar on the other end of the room. It offered her a clear view of every patron that walked in and out of the establishment. She listened to the miseries of men drunk on several pitchers of beer and the giggling of charmed women, basking in the attention being given to them. She enjoyed frequenting bars—this one was among her favorites—because alcohol tended to bring out both the best and worst of people. It made for wonderful entertainment.

She ordered another whiskey. The barman, an old acquaintance, took her glass with a sour expression. "Last one, Cee."

"I _am_ paying you, Rob," she reminded, annoyed that he wanted to cut her off.

Robert Grace refilled her glass, his bushy brown eyebrows drawn together in disapproval, as he returned it to her reach. "And stop glaring at the customers, they're starting to complain."

Cecilia rolled her eyes, snatching the whiskey into her hand.

Robert went to tend to a different patron, putting on his best smile.

She drank deep of her whiskey. She didn't feel the burn rushing down her throat anymore, which was strange because she hadn't been drinking long. She had only been in the bar for an hour. She had walked in at seven after she had left work and it was now—she stole a glance at the small, gold-face clock sitting among all the liquor bottles behind the counter—okay, it had been five hours.

Cecilia continued drinking in silence as the night continued. Although, Robert no longer filled her glass, other men, less intimidated by her glaring bought her drinks. Like many of her fellow patrons, she wanted to disappear from her everyday responsibilities. Inside the warm brown walls with the sweet company of liquor, she found comfort that other places only played at providing.

She enjoyed the bar best on colder evenings. She liked it for the welcoming ambience it kept sealed behind its wooden doors and shuttered windows. That said, she could easily find the same soothing bleakness in her apartment next to the wine cabinet, but she preferred staying out until the dead of night until after the streets were empty and full of mystery—a bittersweet reminder of home, so cold and far away.

Robert's tavern sat about five blocks away from her apartment. Its distance gave her the opportunity to indulge in the late walk back. She appreciated the midnight air—stinging cold and enveloping, though it often made her inebriation worse.

Cecilia was ignoring the man flirting with her when the loud merriment died down to whispers, the front door closing. The murmuring of patrons gave the new customer a profession: State Alchemist. Everyone called him a hero, those that dared speak to him _thanked_ him for his hard work in Ishval, and as their grateful, slurred voices reached her ears, Cecilia lifted her green eyes from the amber liquid in her glass.

A deceptively youthful male stood in the middle of the tavern, dark-eyed and brooding, and dressed in a long coat that hid his navy uniform. He personified the bar's bleak atmosphere, though his expression was marred with censure as he surveyed his surroundings with a hint of arrogance that grated her nerves. As if those other suck-ups telling him how heroic all the mass murder he committed in Ishval hadn't made her blood boil enough.

She hated what'd happened in Ishval. She had felt infuriatingly powerful feelings over it, mostly because it had been complete utter bullshit. The Ishval Civil War had been a massacre in disguise, and in its aftermath, the military had been treated as though they had done the world a favor by killing its population.

It had been an injustice. Had she the power, she would have happily stuck it to the military, but as she did not, she had made a satisfying living tearing it a new one in every article she wrote on them for an independent newspaper, Sunspace Tribute, that sold fairly well for being completely unapologetic about the unbiased politics that it reported.

Robert distracted her from glaring further at the alchemist when he took her drink. "Go home, Cee, or I'll call your boss."

"You're an asshole." Cecelia leaned over the bar after insulting him and swiped the packet of cigarettes he kept hidden there. She pulled her hand back before he had a chance to take those back. "You can stop my drinking, but not my smoking."

He gave in, sighing. "You don't smoke, you drunken idiot."

Cecilia retrieved her purse ignoring him (because she smoked if she wanted) and exited the bar, bumping into the alchemist as she did. She neglected to apologize, too busy scouring the contents of her purse for matches or a lighter. If she remembered correctly, one of her editors smoked, and the last time the office went out drinking (last week), he gave her one or the other to hold for him in her purse because he feared losing it.

The cold air chilled her warm body as she came to a halt on the sidewalk. The long street was oddly lit since several lamps went out after some alchemist-related incident, so it was much darker.

She found a small matchbook and only one match, though she had expected something like a fancy lighter. She then reached inside the carton of cigarettes, taking one out to place between her lips. She tried to light the match, but it bent and broke when she dragged it across the side of the matchbook.

She cursed softly, removing the cigarette from her lips. She turned toward the direction of her building when she noticed the State Alchemist exit.

It was hard to deny that he had a good face. His features were handsome.

It sucked about his profession. Really. He was her type.

He unconsciously made eye contact with her and she lifted her cigarette, asking, "Got a light?"

"No."

He walked in the opposite direction. She didn't like his tone.

"Hey, war hero," she called, returning the cigarette to its carton.

The alchemist stopped, turning, peeved.

Cecilia slinked up to him, drawing her hand purposely to rest against her hip. She shifted her weight onto her left leg and observed the way his eyes had flickered for the briefest moment down her body. She smiled. She was his type, too. "Why don't I buy you a drink?"

She expected him to agree, but he eyed her in silence, as if he were weighing his choices, though she doubted drinking in solitude would be a better option than enjoying a couple of liquor glasses with a beautiful woman.

"Thank you, but no."

He left her flabbergasted, though she recovered quickly and pursued him. She knew better than to chase after a man that snubbed her, but she was too drunk to care that it was pathetic.

"War hero, hey," she called, her voice oozed sarcasm.

His shoulders tensed. He heard the derision in her call. _Good._ However, that did not stop him. She persisted in annoyance. She couldn't believe she considered seducing him.

"Hey, asshole!"

The alchemist turned to glare.

"Is this old hole in the wall not good enough for you?" she demanded, invading his personal space. She stood close enough that she could smell the masculine scent coming from his body; the strong fragrance was mixed with a hint of cologne and expensive wine that made her feel lightheaded. Beneath the opaque light of the nearest streetlamp, he appeared more handsome to her. She chased her attraction from her body, shoved it into darkness. "It probably ain't for a _war hero_. You must have a fancier bar out there, so why come all the way down here? Do you enjoy everyone jumping at the opportunity to kiss your ass, huh?"

"If you mean to harass me, take it somewhere else," he said, voice clipped. "I don't have time for drunken women."

"Oh really? Perhaps, it's being told that you're a despicable human being for your _heroic_ contributions to the war," she retorted, blood boiling mad about her stand. The alcohol was to blame for the sudden word vomit, the hounding, and the maddening attraction too, but she was fully conscious of her actions and in complete control of her five senses. She hated that all of the State Alchemists that participated in the Ishvalan Civil War left it a hero, despite having received orders to murder indiscriminately—the elderly, women, children, and male civilians. The military had literally gone into Ishval and killed everything. "Maybe that's what you don't have time for."

Furiously, he took the back of her neck and his face came dangerously close to hers. "Do not pretend to understand! You aren't an officer! You weren't there!"

"I understand," she snapped, slapping his hand away from her neck, "and I don't need a damn uniform to know. I bet it was all purposefully arranged because the military needed an enemy—"

"Shut up!"

"—and so an officer went and shot a child!"

"Do you think you have any say in—?"

"If I have an opinion I have an opinion, who the fuck are you to shut me up about? There are newspapers all over the place saying the same thing—"

"There are more articles in newspapers written with erroneous information than there are faithful—"

"But is it erroneous because it goes against the military or is it—?"

"Will you let me finish a—?"

"No!"

Immediately, with the swiftness of light abandoning a bulb after it was switched off, they were silent and furious. Their warm breaths came out in wisps of white when they hit the cold air.

The quiet should have been reason enough to depart, turn away from one another and go on their way, disappear perpetually from each other's lives, never to meet again. They didn't move—not an inch away or closer. She looked at him and he at her.

Maybe, she mistook the prickle of goose bumps spreading as a shudder possessed her body to be the result of the freezing night, but something clicked, like a bone snapping back into place—between them, two strangers in the street, one a State Alchemist and the other a reporter. He represented everything that she hated about the military. Participation in genocide had brought him fame—good fame, the type that had some people wanting to kiss the floor he walked on. It annoyed her that this was what Amestris had become after the Ishval Civil War. It hadn't been anything like she'd hoped.

Cecilia realized that it probably wasn't entirely his fault, but she had given her piece and even if she apologized, the moment wasn't right. She couldn't get the words out in her current state. She'd hated how stubborn she was when inebriated.

She never thought it was possible for two people to yell at each other so closely. She supposed they were living proof of it. She could feel the heat coming off his body.

That was too close.

The log lodged in her throat, she swallowed, painfully and with great difficulty. She watched him, sweat forming at his temples, his black eyes darker than the night around them. Her chest rose and fell, her breath thinned as though she had finished running a marathon without prior training or preparation.

Cecilia wasn't prepared for this encounter.

"Is that it?" he bit out. He challenged her. She could hear his breaths, loud and rhythmic like hers.

"I have insults for days, asshole, don't think I'm through with you," she retorted. She wouldn't back down. She didn't care who he was. She didn't care that he could probably kill her in an instant. She cared about remedying this fastidious situation that she'd instigated without leaving it looking like a fool.

Oh, but she swore to high heaven and back that there was something there, sparking between them, rumbling like thunder behind dark clouds. She wasn't the only one feeling it. He was too. She saw his frustration deepen with every breath that left his body.

"You're only lashing out because I turned you down," he remarked, stepping in closer and forcing her back. The implication infuriated her. "Is that it?"

" _Ha!_ " she exclaimed, folding her arms over her chest. "You are really self-important, aren't you? You honestly believe that I am so starved for sex that I will take it from just anyone?"

He let out an exasperated sound and grabbed her firmly by the waist. She didn't protest or fight against him. Her body was free of tension, soft in his arms.

"What do you want from me?" he demanded, the berries and alcohol in his breath filled her senses.

She wanted to taste them on his tongue.

Cecilia took him by the collar, drawing him in, still teasing. "You?"

"You're infuriating," he seethed, closing the small gap between them.

His mouth was strong and urgent against hers. She met the kiss with similar fervor, opening her mouth to run her tongue over the seam of his lips, eager to taste the wine she smelled on his breath. He met her tongue as he pushed her backward until her back hit the side of a car. She started to undo the buttons of his coat, starting to push it off his shoulders. His hands were searching, running down briefly to touch her breasts underneath her thin blouse before they dropped down to knead her ass, grinding his hips against hers.

She moaned in his mouth, his tongue tangled with hers in a languid dance that made her every nerve pulse with excitement, and reached for his belt.

He stopped her, pulling apart from her lips. His eyes remained glued on hers. Her lips throbbed, ached from the bruising of their passionate kiss.

"Take me home," she told him, her heart drummed wildly in the adrenaline rush. "Or if some lowly apartment is too good for a war hero, you can take me back to your place."

"Just shut up."

He walked her across the street to a parked car shrouded in darkness. He opened the door for her, but she was too eager to wait for them to get home. She couldn't keep her hands off him. The backseat was cramped for their long bodies, but they fit perfectly atop one another, limbs tangled.

They kissed deeply, touched heavily over their clothes, and rocked against one another. The hard friction brought her spurts of pleasure that made her body tremble.

"How is it?" he asked, his hand on her face. A sly smile played on his lips.

She mirrored his grin. "I think you can do better."

"Isn't it a little pathetic of you to be so desperate for my cock?"

Cecilia laughed. "A little," she said once her mocking laughter subsided, "but isn't it your fault for lacking the self-restraint to resist me?"

He frowned. "Shut up."

He kissed her hard until her lips were bruised and aching. His hand dipped low between them, cupping her crotch and rubbing her through the thin fabric of her underwear. Her body jerked and tensed to keep herself from shaking, but their heavy petting left her sensitive to his more aggressive maneuvering. She could barely keep her voice low when her touched her clit through the cloth or rubbed the damp fabric against her slit, teasing her with a finger pressing down the edge of her underwear, spreading her slowly.

She rocked her hips against his hand, increasing the friction. She twisted underneath him, rising on her arms. As she did, he silenced the moan about to escape her lips by covering her mouth with his hand. He raised his finger to his lips.

She stilled.

Voices reached her ears.

Cecilia looked out the window and saw a pair of drunkards making their way across the street in the direction of his car.

He put his hand on her thigh, her skirt riding up to expose her skin to his eyes. "We should go."

He released her once the two men changed direction, offering a small timeframe to compose themselves and button their clothing.

Breathlessly, she said, "My place is five blocks away."

He nodded.

The two exited the backseat of his car once the street was empty. He opened the passenger seat door open for her. She brought him in for a kiss that left them equally short of breath. He jumped into the driver's seat and asked her for directions to her place.

The drive to her building had been silent, but charged with sexual tension. Once inside, they made their noisy ascent to the fourth floor, bumping into the frames decorating the walls and the banister until they fumbled through the entrance of her apartment, tugging at each other's clothes. Every now and again, they were exchanging insults. Their coats were already on the floor with her heels by the time they entered her apartment.

Cecilia slammed the door shut with her foot as he kicked his boots off. She locked the entrance—wanted no interruptions—and went to help him undress. She pushed the blue uniform jacket off his muscular arms and stepped out of her underwear.

She worked down the buttons of his stark white shirt as he kissed her neck, sucking against her pulse point. He discarded his shirt, revealing a sculptured chest that she was all too delighted to touch.

The alchemist hoisted her into his arms and she wrapped her legs around his waist. He pushed her up against the wall to drag the loose shirt off over her head. He left a blaze of kisses over her breasts. He took one of her nipples into his hot mouth, teasing the erect peak with his tongue. She buried her fingers into his dark hair, arching her back, pressing her breast more into his mouth. He sucked it, kneading her other breast in his strong hand.

"Where's your bed?" he asked, leaving her breast. His eyes were smoldering as they met hers.

Cecilia wiggled free of his hold and stepped down, taking him by the hand. She led him across her living room and into her room down a short hallway. She shoved him down onto her bed and straddled his hips. She slid her hands down the length of his chest, admiring the hardness beneath her palms.

She licked her lips, eager to kiss down it and outline the muscles with her tongue.

"So," she started, lifting her eyes to meet his, "do you have a name, war hero? I'd like to know what to scream if you do a good job."

He sat up and switched their positions in one swift move. He pressed is erection against the heat between her thighs. He took her wrists down near her head. She giggled, breathing heavily. He leaned forward.

"Roy Mustang," he told her. "Use it sparingly or your voice might go out."

"Roy Mustang," she repeated, savoring the sound of his name on her tongue.

"What's yours?"

"Cecilia Warren," she replied, putting her hands on his face. "Stop making me work for it and take your pants off."

He obliged her, removing his pants. She reached down between them and wrapped her hand around his throbbing shaft. She guided him inside her and threw back her head as he spread her, slow.

" _Mmm_."

He lifted her hips and slid his dick deep inside her. She grasped at his strong arms, moaning lowly.

He grinned devilishly at her. "Better?"

"Yes," she said, rocking her hips. She drew a pleasured groan from him. "Come on, war hero—"

He silenced her with a kiss.

He moved slow and strong, thrust it in deep. He kissed her hard, quickening his movements. It thrilled her to feel the fullness of his dick inside of her. She relished the way his mouth sucked on her skin, how his tongue drew circles and teased her nipples.

As he assured in earlier banter, she found herself unable to stop from saying his name. She spoke it, lowly at first—a small whisper drowned in the sound of wet slapping skin, their quickened breaths, and his moans mingling with hers every hard thrust.

" _Mustang,_ " she said, rocking her hips to match his rhythm. She doubted he heard her, but when he bit her nipple, he made her say it louder, he rose up above her, shoving his length inside her to the hilt.

"Yes, Cecilia," he said, drawing out to push back in. Her breath hitched. "Like that."

With his eyes locked on hers, the intensity in them, the sensual movements that melded their bodies together and introduced them to strong, rising pleasure, she felt her body starting to tremble, her insides tingling.

Roy buried his face in her neck, his hot breath caressing her skin. "You're incredible."

"I know."

She held onto him tight, meeting every thrust. He throbbed inside of her.

He fucked her hard. She couldn't think beyond the rave sensations taking control of her. She gave in completely to him when he dropped his hand down and his fingers pressed against her clit. The slightest touch made her twist underneath his body.

She was too sensitive. She begged him to stop, but she wanted him to touch her more. She couldn't think. She didn't think she was making any comprehensible sounds that sounded anything like actual words.

He applied a little more pressure, rubbing in soft circles. Her toes curled, her back arched, her throat ached as her voice grew louder. The headboard started to slam against the wall with his quickening thrusts.

"I'm close! Don't stop!"

She gripped the sheets.

Her orgasm came suddenly, in long, drawn out waves that made her insides spasm around his thrusting cock.

"I'm close," he grunted.

He started to slow, but she grabbed his arm. "Keep going," she urged. "Don't stop!"

Roy pressed down on her, thrusting into her and riding out her climax until he gave in to his own. She felt the instant he burst inside her, moaning against her ear, his hoarse voice rekindling her arousal. Her body wrung out the last of his orgasm, feeling it scorching hot and thick inside her.

Roy pulled out and flopped onto his back beside her, breathing heavily.

Cecilia climbed him, slithering down low to kiss down the length of his chest as he regained his breath. She met his eyes as she positioned her body between his legs, her hand wrapping around his cock, half-hard in her grip. She ran her tongue along the length, feeling it twitch as the blood rushed to it, and brought the head to her lips. She kissed it, tasting him. She licked the slit and felt him shudder.

"I'm not done yet," she told him. "So you better have some fight left in you, war hero."

He smirked, reclining back onto her pillows as she took his cock into her mouth. "I didn't think so, princess."

The night ended in a blur of pleasure. The dangerously unbridled pleasure that had filled her gave her comfort that she didn't realize she had been seeking and offered her, for the first time in many years, a dreamless sleep.

Cecilia woke up the following morning groaning and full of shame. She stayed on her back with Roy lying beside her asleep.

Her bed sat underneath a pair of windows. Even though they were covered with heavy drapes, the sunlight shone through, illuminating her room.

She left her bed and found a robe in her closet to tug on. She left her room and walked into her kitchen as she knotted her silk robe shut. She set a kettle full of water on the stove.

Cecilia sat down at the square table inside her kitchen space wondering what possessed her to sleep with a military dog. He was handsome, but that should not have been enough to do the deed with him.

She barely knew him.

Roy Mustang. She remembered his name after hearing all about his participation in the Ishval Civil War. The Flame Alchemist, if she recalled correctly. Worse, she was certain she had started a personal slander campaign against him (and several State Alchemists) during the war and after. It had gotten her arrested for a day—for the public disturbance, not the actual campaign. She had blamed that on her boss.

Cecilia washed her face and brushed her teeth at the kitchen sink to keep her mind off the information she knew about him. Once the water boiled, she made two cups of coffee, feeling that that was the least she could do after last night.

Roy stepped out in his pants, searching the living room for the rest of his clothing.

"Morning, Mustang," she greeted lazily, raising her mug at him. She slid the second mug across the table where it stopped near the edge. "I made coffee."

He picked up his uniform and draped them over his arm. He picked up the coffee mug. "Thanks."

She tried to read the emotion on his face, but he wasn't very expressive. He took one quick sip before setting it down. He pulled on his shirt, buttoning it down before her wandering eyes could memorize every inch of his sculptured chest. She would not have minded staring at him naked for the rest of the morning. It beat going to work to continue defending her choice in article. However, she had to remind herself that she should have minded it.

"So, do you do this often?" she asked, hoping to break the ice. "Sleep with every woman that tries to call you out on your bullshit?"

"The same could be said about you."

"I try not to make it a habit," she replied, smiling brilliantly. "Sleeping with the enemy is not great for my reputation."

"Certainly didn't stop you last night." Roy fastened his blue jacket and pulled on his dark coat before taking a seat across her. He drank his coffee as quickly as possible. "This is good coffee."

"I have a gift," she said proudly, watching him set his mug down. "But if you're done with your coffee, I'm going to have to ask you to leave."

"No need, I was about to go myself." He forced a smile. "Thank you for the hospitality, Cecilia Warren."

She smiled, walking him to the door of her apartment. As she shut the door behind him, she hoped she wouldn't have to see him again.

* * *

 _To be continued..._

* * *

 **xl** : See you next week!


	2. Adult Conversation

**Chapter 2** : Adult Conversation

Roy Mustang entered the bar expecting to find a group of strangers enjoying alcohol and minding their own business. After his encounter with Cecilia Warren, a passionate but stubbornly opinionated woman, left him with the desire never to meet her again, he didn't anticipate coincidentally running into her a second time.

Cecilia sat in a corner table in the establishment surrounded by men. All of them held a shot of liquor in the air, a toast proposed, and everyone hit their glasses with one another accompanying cheers. At once, they all emptied the contents of their shots.

Cecilia appeared immersed in the conversation and in the people around her. Soft green eyes brimmed with joy. She seemed like a completely different person from the woman he remembered taking to bed. She wore her raven hair in shallow waves down her shoulders and a button down shirt underneath a black vest that molded to the shape of her body.

He wouldn't let her presence put a damper on his evening. She didn't notice him enter, so he made a beeline for the bar and took a seat; his back was to the rest of the room.

He could've gone anywhere else knowing that she was in this bar, but he hated that his first thought after seeing her was to leave. Why should he give her control over where he went? They were adults and capable of handling casual sex in a mature manner, though it didn't make him question her motives any less. She hated him one minute, and the next, she was helping him out of his clothes inside her apartment. That meant one of two things: she was planning something or she had no scruples and went with the flow.

Roy had been guilty of the latter. He admitted to have had a few drinks in him before entering the tavern where they had met. Outside, when he had caught a glimpse of her searching her purse, he had looked twice. Her skin had looked beautiful under the illumination of the streetlamp, pale and smooth to the touch (he had proven that in her bed), and her face had been beautiful. After she had asked for a lighter, he had stared far too long at her lips, enchanted by them.

He had blamed the alcohol in his system. He had blamed her for tempting him. He had no explanation to how they had come together, but it had been fun. He only had no true desire to experience it again.

Roy ordered something strong to shorten his stay.

"My, my."

Roy watched Cecilia sit down on the stool beside him. She crossed her legs over the knee and leaned forward on the counter, propping her elbow atop its surface to rest her cheek in her palm. She smiled at him pleasantly.

"Hello, Mustang."

"Good evening, Cecilia," he said, mirroring the exact tone of her greeting. He turned his attention forward to the bottles on display, determined to see that their exchange remained cordial. "Should you leave your friends so suddenly?"

"Those aren't my friends," she told him, turning away from him to knock on the counter's surface, beckoning the bartender.

The bald man approached her immediately. "Brandy?"

She smiled charmingly. "Yes, thank you."

"Anything for my number one customer," the bartender said, sliding a peanut bowl next to her.

" _Please_ , we both know your best customer is your brother."

The two laughed at their inside joke. She thanked him for the brandy when she received it and took a sip, seeming to enjoy herself.

She smiled at Roy. "I work with his brother."

He set his glass on the counter, his interest in her piqued. "Where do you work?"

"Oh? Have you taken a sudden interest in my occupation?" she asked curiously, taking a long drink of brandy. "Or are you humoring me again?"

He scoffed. "You call last time _humoring_?"

A mischievous smile shaped her pink lips. "No," she said, looking away from his face. She stared into her glass as she spun the liquid lazily. "No, that can't be it. You came here to avoid me after all."

Roy chocked on his drink. She patted his back and brought a napkin to his line of sight. He took it, thanking her between coughs.

"I'm incredibly perceptive, Mustang," she revealed. "Quite. I can sense your reluctance around me."

The bartender returned to them to refill her drink. She thanked him and drank half of it in one gulp. She smiled at Roy once he calmed.

"Don't feel bad," she said. "This happens often. I come on a bit strong."

"A bit?"

"A lot," she corrected. "We're adults, Mustang. We had sex. I didn't kill your puppy. This resistance that you've got going for you is very _teenage_ of you."

Roy frowned. "You don't know when to stop, do you?"

"Did I offend you?" she asked, feigning innocence. "If anything I should feel offended, you're the one that changed haunts to avoid me."

"And what do you call what you're doing?" he demanded.

"Rotation."

"Rotation?"

"I visit bars in a rotation, I'm not avoiding you at all," she explained. "That bar simply wasn't in my current rotation." She downed the rest of her drink and continued, "Look, if you want me to leave you alone, say it. I might be perceptive, but I'm not a mind reader."

"You're a real piece of work," said Roy.

"I am," she said proudly, "but please, go on with your observations. I _love_ when people talk about me to me."

Realizing that his glass was empty, he ordered a refill. He needed more than just a couple of drinks in him to hold a conversation with Cecilia. She was infuriating. He didn't understand her angle. She insulted him as soon as she came upon the opportunity over a subject that he understood had been a vile act. She had lived her entire life safe within the city, exposed only to what the newspaper printed about the war. She had not been in Ishval. She had no way of understanding the guilt he bore because of it or how his exposure to it had been enough to change his whole perspective.

Roy had every opportunity to quit after the war, but he had not viewed his position in the military as a bad thing, so he sought to improve it in order to make changes.

Cecilia seemed incapable of discarding her own stubbornness long enough to see another's side of the story. Her opinion was simply the right opinion.

How the hell did they end up having sex? Nobody had ever caused a scene quite like theirs and followed it by jumping each other's bones. Had it been an adrenaline rush mixed with the drinks he had before entering the tavern or had it been something else? He hadn't quite denied that he had felt a magnetic attraction to her, but that had been a physical reaction. Any conscious man would be attracted to Cecilia. She was tall with almond shaped eyes framed by thick black lashes, her lips were a perfect shape to match anyone's, her body was all taut skin and curves with beautiful sensitive breasts, and he stopped himself from thinking about her beyond that as his trousers tightened.

Was the meeting itself more than a coincidence? Were they simply misfortunate enough to have been in the right place and time when the need rose? He cursed in his head. Did he like women shouting at him in the dead of night?

He was at a loss.

Roy directed his attention to her. She met his gaze and smiled in a way that dared him to deny she was beautiful. She was gorgeous. Her mouth was the problem.

"What do you want from me?"

Cecilia stepped down from her stool and set her hand atop his shoulder, leaning forward to his ear. "I like harassing you."

The soft whisper raised the hair on the back of his neck, her breath, warm and fragrant with alcohol, caressed his skin, driving his memory to recall the feel of her soft lips trailing down his chest and the heat of her tongue as it licked the length of his engorged shaft. Her green eyes had been locked on his as she had taken him into her greedy mouth, moaning.

Roy shifted uncomfortably in his seat. It took all of his willpower to keep his dick from hardening. He pushed the memories from his mind. He didn't care who he fucked in the moment that he was screwing them. Cecilia was beautiful, skillful, and wanton. Despite her glaring faults, she didn't crave the attachment most women did after a one-night stand. She had only wanted pleasure—to _feel_ something, as he had wanted to feel something.

 _Something_ that neither one of them possessed. Perhaps, that was the reason. Everything before their shared pleasure was a blur of vitriol without voice or bearing, though that might have been their ability to separate their ideals from the act.

Roy watched Cecilia walk to the other side of the bar where she leaned forward to say goodbye to the bartender. She smiled at Roy before stepping out of the bar.

He reached for his wallet to pay for his drinks after calling the bartender over. The bald man stopped him when he saw his money.

"Cee took care of your drinks."

Roy thanked him for his service and exited the establishment while berating his lack of self-control. He searched for her down the sidewalk and caught sight of her walking blissfully waving her purse back and forth.

He should've gone back to his car and let things be, but she'd intrigued him. Although, he had a suspicious hunch that it had been her feminine wiles at work because she was clearly working him.

Roy pursued her, catching up quick, and called, "Cecilia!"

Cecilia turned gracefully to meet him. A knowing smile on her lips assured him that she had known he would run after her.

"Mustang," she said, acting surprised. "Did you forget something? Me, perhaps?"

"You're an infuriating woman," said Roy, grabbing hold of her face. He was angry with himself for allowing her to manipulate him. "You have no idea what you're getting yourself into."

Cecilia moved closer to him. "Maybe you're the one getting in over your head."

"Shut up, Cecilia."

He kissed her deeply and made his intentions clear by sliding his hands down her lower back. She responded eagerly, wrapping her arms around his neck, and opening her mouth against his. He turned his head to deepen their lip lock and slid his tongue inside her mouth, rubbing over hers.

Cecilia ended their kiss. "Let's go back to my place."

They were a short distance away from her building and walking was faster than returning to his car, so he let her snake her arm over his to lead him the way.

The building was stout and built of red stone. It had elegantly arched windows with a few apartments that had a balcony space large enough to cultivate a small garden. The anteroom was brown monochrome that smelled of pine with flower wallpaper that decorated the walls and held an empty front desk that gave off the impression that the building had likely served as a hotel at some point in the past.

Roy followed her up the stairs to the fourth floor, feeling her hand leave his arm as they neared her apartment. She lived in apartment forty-three, a home with ample room to accommodate a single person and she kept it neatly furnished and clean.

He remembered running his fingers across the table in the kitchen to find it spotless, not a speck of dirt to be seen.

Cecilia searched all of her pockets until she brought out her house key. She unlocked and pushed the door open, leading the way inside as she unbuttoned her vest, wasting no time.

Roy shut the door behind him, turning the lock, and entered into the main area of her home. The living room and kitchen sat opposite of one another, a pair of glass doors behind a few couches led into a tiny, empty terrace. There were several bookshelves flush against the wall overflowing with books of all sizes in front of a pair of maroon loveseats and an armchair seated around a rectangular coffee table.

The only potted plant in sight was a small cactus that sat in the windowsill of the kitchen window.

Cecilia faced him as she pulled her vest and shirt off her body. Her breasts were covered by a white brassiere, the thin cloth made the outline of her nipples visible to his rapt attention.

Roy set his hands firmly at her sides and followed the dip of her waist to the flare of her hips. He repeated the action, up and down, savoring the feel of her skin beneath his palms.

"No need to be alarmed," she began, moving her hands up his chest, "but I am starting to feel a little underdressed here."

"Do you need help with your pants?" he asked, leaning in to kiss her neck as he undid the button and zipper of her pants.

He pushed the tight fabric down to her hips and pushed his hands into her underwear, kneading her ass as he guided her backward. She stepped out of her pants as he moved her and slipped when she bumped into the kitchen table.

He kept her on her feet and lifted her onto the table's surface. He continued kissing her neck, traveling down to brand her chest with his mouth. He sucked at each breast through the fabric of her brassiere and moved further down, bending down until his knees touched the floor. He helped her get rid of her underwear and dragged her closer to the edge; his head nestled between her warm thighs. He left feathering kisses along her inner thigh.

Cecilia made pleasured noises and raked her fingers through his hair.

When Roy kissed her mons, she braced herself for the pleasure his teasing promised. He licked her silken folds, tasting and feeling the heat of her arousal on his tongue. He raised his eyes to meet hers as he feasted on her soft, yielding flesh and heard the tempo of her breaths change, quickening.

He parted her with his thumbs to kiss her deeper, his tongue ran across her opening teasingly, bottom to top where he avoided touching her clit, instead her kissed around it. He wanted to torture the orgasm out of her. He wanted to feel her body trembling as she begged for release. He drew slow circles around her clit, flicking his tongue over it to hear her breath hitch at the same time that her body tensed.

Cecilia moved her hips and leaned her cheek to her shoulder as her sweet voice began to grow louder. The sound of her enjoyment alone made his pants unbearable for his throbbing erection. She started to shake, moving as her pleasure began to escalate with each movement of his tongue. He paid close attention to her reactions as she had them and exploited her sensitive areas.

Roy slid his arms under her legs and grabbed hold of her hips, forcing her still as he continued his onslaught. She whined in protested, tugging at his hair, but her voice dissolved into moans as he lapped at her.

He entered her with his tongue, tasting her, and she cried out. Satisfied with her reaction, he proceeded to fuck her with his tongue, using one of his hands to play with her clit. The sounds she made were driving him insane. He wanted to bury his cock inside her, fill her to the brim, and feel her tight vaginal walls clamped down over his shaft throbbing with him. His thoughts brought back their first night to his mind. He rubbed his aching dick, fantasizing about her quivering wanton body clinging to him, eager about every thrust.

Roy moaned against her pink flesh. He left the imprint of his nails on her right hip and moved to suck on her clit. He unbuckled his pants, shifting in his seat to free his erection. As he helped her achieve her first orgasm of the night, he pumped his aching cock with his hand and felt his pre-cum spill onto his hand.

Cecilia's breathing was rhythmic, quickening, and louder. She started panting, crying out, and tightening her hold on his hair. She tried to silence her voice, but he looked at her, drawing his lips away from her, and said, "Come for me."

She lasted no more than another minute of his attentions before her orgasm. She shook violently in his powerful hold. She cried out, "Mustang!" in broken syllables. He almost came in his hand, but held back. He wanted to be inside her when he did. He wanted to fuck her in every position imaginable. He wanted to make her cry from the pleasure he gave her.

He felt no different with other women. He enjoyed pleasuring them, ensuring their satisfaction before being satisfied himself. He enjoyed the sound of their voices as they came undone and the sight of their bodies writhing beneath his. However, he knew he could pleasure them. It was a given. He paid attention. He was a quick learner when it came to finding sensitive spots. He understood when to tease and when to exploit—he had a balance of both down pat. He took pride in knowing that no woman that left him ever did so unsatisfied.

Cecilia made him try a little harder. She was as experienced as he was. Her skillset and knowledge of men's bodies was expert. She knew exactly how to pleasure him. He realized that the instant she gave him a blowjob that still made his dick hard to recall. She knew exactly what she liked and wanted. Their sexual escapade was a game in expert mode.

She was harder to read. If she were ever unsatisfied, she would let him know and it'd make him try harder. He thought the same idea went through her mind.

It probably helped that they were so compatible.

Cecilia reclined over the table, gasping for breath, as he rose to his feet. She looked stunning, body covered in a thin layer of sweat that made her skin shine. Her black hair was splayed behind her head. Her nipples were hard and rubbing against her bra.

"That was…amazing," she said breathlessly.

"Good," he said, pressing his engorged shaft against her wet entrance. "Ready for the next round?"

She responded by pulling her legs up to the table, spreading them.

Roy thrust into her and saw her body shudder, her voice grew a bit louder. She was tight around him; her insides not quite finished contracting from the pleasures of her earlier orgasm.

For three weeks, Roy had tried explaining their first encounter. He had searched all his logic and understanding thinking of a reason that had never existed. They were compatible. Obviously. They _worked_ on a sexual level.

Roy hoisted her up onto a seat, wrapping his arm around her waist while pumping into her. She took his face and brought his lips to hers, kissing him hard.

He lost himself in the moment.

She could become what he needed because forgetting for even an instant—all of the troubling memories that he haunted him—was healing. And he…he might have already become what she needed, whatever it might be.

Roy opened his eyes the following morning. The sunlight's brightness was blinding. It took a few minutes to adjust.

The bed was empty, but he heard Cecilia's tinkering in the kitchen. The smell of coffee beans perforated the room, mingling strongly along the smell of her sweet perfume. The pillows smelled like a cocktail of berries, same as her hair.

He sat up, yawning, and listened to the soft pad of her bare feet on the hardwood floor of the kitchen. He left the bed, picking up his boxes and pulling them on. He stepped out of Cecilia's bedroom in search of the rest of his clothes.

Cecilia stood with her back towards him dressed in a plain dress that sat just above her ankles.

Roy walked straight to the kitchen table where two coffee mugs sat, steam rising above the black liquid. He picked one up aware she brewed it for him.

"Thanks for the coffee."

He touched the table and it was spotless, same as the rest of the house. Everything was organized, very neat.

"No problem," she said absently.

Roy found her tone a bit strange and observed her as she tore a rectangular piece of paper along with an envelope. She threw it into the trash bin at her feet and moved on to rip several pages of a handwritten letter as well until it looked impossible to reconstruct.

"Bad news?" he questioned, only because it looked as though she had been crying.

"No," she said, her voice was normal. "It was just an invitation." She took her coffee and drank several gulps before stopping to speak. "You're going to have to excuse me, but I have to go into work early."

She threw out the remaining coffee and left the mug at the sink.

Roy watched her go to the living room to pick up a stack of newspapers and file folders. She sidled up beside him, patting his lower back, and smiling. "Thanks for last night. It was great."

"You weren't so bad yourself," he said, grinning.

She took him by the chin. "I was amazing. Don't pretend I wasn't."

She had been.

Cecilia released him. She took her coat and purse from the hooks by the door before stepping out of her apartment. She stared right at him. "Make sure to lock up after you go."

Roy sat half-naked in her apartment holding a mug of coffee that she brewed for him. She was working him.

* * *

 **xl** : I will be ashamed of this story until we hit double digits - I think.

I'm currently in Hunter x Hunter hell. I won't be updating other stories apart from this one and Omixochitl in the coming week or weeks until I have completed it.

Thank you for reading.


	3. The Bartender

**Chapter 3** : The Bartender

"Did you get his invitation too?" exclaimed Barbara Walker, slamming her beer on the table. Her brown eyes ablaze. "The bastard has balls."

Cecilia drained her tankard of beer, feeling as irritated as Barbara looked. She didn't expect to have this conversation with her when Barbara invited her out for drinks. She thought Barbara wanted to rant about work or needed to talk after a difficult day.

"We should go," decided Barbara. "I bet he just sent it as a courtesy. He knows we won't go because of what happened between us." She leaned into her propped up arm, pressing her chin to the top of her hand. "I'm serious, we should go. See if he's as astute and distinguished as he pretends to be. I wouldn't mind ruining his day or even his life after what he did to us."

Barbara was as close to a true friend as Cecilia would ever have. They had come into each other's lives under terrible circumstances after having discovered that the man that they had been seeing was playing them and that realization had made them rage. She and Barbara had come together and shared in their sorrows (drank to them until they had been piss drunk and crying over the lovely memories they had had with him until they had started to see a pattern, which had driven them into destroying some of his property). They had been in love with the same man and he had betrayed them. Although, it had been his wife, Emma, they had felt sorry for the most despite their hurt feelings.

The bastard in question had invited them to his son's christening next month and Barbara was right in saying it was a courtesy. Without their knowledge, they had both at some early interval in their relationship with this cheating bastard of a man been introduced to his wife, Emma—a lovely, stupid woman—as colleagues, later his cousins (again, without their knowing), and despite Emma's ignorance when it came to her husband's affairs, she had a good memory. Cecilia had the misfortune of running into her often. It had happened recently at the grocery store.

"Emma chased me down two days ago, asked me if I received the invitation in the post," said Cecilia, earning an exasperated look from her tall, blond friend. "Do you know what she told me? That she hopes I can bring Cousin Barb, too."

"No!" she exclaimed. "She did not!"

"What do you expect? That woman is an angel."

" _Ugh!_ I want to go! I want to go to that christening so badly!"

Cecilia raised her empty tankard when the bartender glimpsed at her table. He inclined his head, understanding that she wanting a refill and picked up a jug to fill from the tap. He beckoned one of the girls waiting tables and handed her a new beer, directing her to Cecilia's table.

"We should go," continued Barbara. "We should show up looking hot and with hot dates, too!"

The youthful servant dropped off her beer and took the empty tankard away, smiling at Barbara with a tranquil smile to ask if she wanted another drink. Barbara asked for another bottle of vodka. _A whole battle_. The emphasis on the order distressed the girl, but she went to pick one up with a tight smile.

"She is judging us, I can sense it," whispered Barbara, eyeing the girl with disdain. "How old do you think she is? She's probably commenting on our age. Do you think we look old?"

"I am twenty-three, I _don't_ look old," she remarked, "Worry about yourself."

Barbara gasped. "You're terrible!"

The girl returned to drop off a tall bottle of vodka and a martini glass with two olives swimming in the clear liquid.

"We didn't order this," said Cecilia.

She smiled, holding the round tray flat against her stomach. "The bartender prepared it for you. He said it's on the house."

Cecilia and Barbara exchanged wide-eyed looks as the girl walked away.

"You should go home with him," Barbara whispered, leaning across the table. "He's gorgeous!"

Cecilia eyed the bartender with interest. He was lean and gorgeous in a navy blue button down with his sleeves folded up to his elbows. His brown shoulder-length hair was pulled back into a neat ponytail, his eyes were a sharp blue color, his jaw was strong, squared, and his mouth was beautifully sculpted.

She caught his eye and raised the martini glass in thanks, offering him a charming smile as she took a sip.

"You don't even need to work for it," added Barbara, holding a cupped hand over her mouth to shield it from view. "Sheesh, I would do him in a second."

"Don't you have a boyfriend?" asked Cecilia.

"I have an _acquaintance._ "

The martini was awful, but a free drink was a free drink, so she drank it down. She enjoyed the olives, though.

"That reminds me, Joe told me he saw a State Alchemist leave your apartment last week," Barbara began, seizing control of her attention. She grinned teasingly. "I thought you were against dating people in the military, let alone alchemists. You hate them all, don't you?"

"I considered moving west in search of more men, but felt it would be much more expensive to quit my job and travel than it would be to expand my horizons," Cecilia explained. She should have asked Roy to be sneaky about leaving her house. She didn't need her building talking about how she's been shacking up with a State Alchemist, especially after her slander campaign gave her quite a reputation.

She made a personal note to strangle Joe from across the hall for parting with this information—to Barbara of all people, who would never let her live it down.

"So, was he worth it?"

" _Ugh,_ he was terrible," she complained, recognizing the glint in her friend's eye. The one thing she learned growing up traveling was not to trust other women with knowledge of the men that knew how to work a girl over good because one of them would eventually be curious enough to see how truthful the details were. It wasn't that she didn't trust Barbara, but they had a terrible record of falling for the same type of men. Barbara wouldn't betray her that way either, it wasn't in her nature. Honestly, she wasn't sure why she was actually lying to her about her encounter with Roy. It wasn't as if they were exclusive and she definitely didn't have feelings for him. "I could see him thrusting but I felt nothing."

 _God_ , she felt _everything_!

Barbara snorted. "Those are the worst!"

"Tell me about it, I slept with him twice. It was like I just couldn't believe how bad he was the first time we did it." She grimaced for effect and leaned over to continue in a whisper. "He's not even good with his mouth." Who was she kidding, though? Roy was fantastic with his mouth. Remembering his head between her thighs, his eyes full of lust on hers, and his warm tongue outlining every inch of her made a hot drop of arousal spread quick along her lower abdomen. "He basically just slobbered all over me. It was disgusting."

Someone at the bar entrance sneezed, drawing her attention and she followed Roy Mustang to his seat at the bar. He wore an overcoat that did well to cover his military uniform. _Speak of the devil._

Barbara was too busy laughing to catch her staring.

"Ms. Walker?" the bartender called. Barbara looked up at him, perked up. "There's a Mr. Fig on the phone for you."

All laughter abandoned Barbara's face, replaced by quiet rage. "How did that fucker find me? Excuse me, Cee."

Cecilia finished her tankard of beer and took her empty martini glass to the bar, finding an excuse to sit there. The gorgeous bartender came up to meet her as Barbara cursed into the phone's receiver at her _acquaintance_ , Cornelius Fig, and offered her a lopsided smile capable of melting any idiot's heart. She pretended not to notice Roy sitting two seats to her left.

She pushed the empty martini glass across the counter, feeling eyes on her. "Thank you for the drink," she lied, all charm. "It was delicious."

"How? How did you get this number, you stalker? How?" demanded Barbara in the background.

"Should I buy you another drink?" the bartender asked. "Another beer?"

Roy scoffed.

Cecilia glared at him. She caught him eyeing her from his periphery as he drank the contents of his shot glass in one go. He reached for the bottle sitting near him and poured himself another.

"You're better off conserving what alcohol you have left in this bar," suggested Roy. "She'll drink all of it if you're too generous."

"Shut up, Mustang!"

Was it just her or was he cock blocking her?

"Not a problem," said the bartender, touching her hand and smiling. The brief contact snapped his attention back to him and she stared into his eyes. They were beautiful. She was drunk. "She can have all the drinks she wants. They're on me, sweetheart."

Yup. She was drunk.

"Suit yourself."

Roy went back to ignoring the rest of the bar.

"My shift ends in about a minute," the bartender said, leaning in to whisper in her ear. His fingers caressed the line of her jaw. "I have more drinks at home."

"You have to be kidding me," Roy muttered into his glass, shaking his head. The comment directed at her.

"Fuck you, Mustang." Turning to the stunned bartender with a sweet smile, she asked, "I'll wait outside."

"I'll be right out."

The bartender left her for a second to beckon an older woman waiting on a table on the other side of the bar.

Cecilia stomped on Roy's foot, making him spit out his alcohol in shock.

"What are you doing?" he snapped. "That hurt!"

She grabbed him by his coat's collar. "No, what are _you_ doing?"

"Cecilia, you're drunk," he pointed out. "You shouldn't be running off with a stranger in your state."

"Shut up," she hissed. "I am _not_ drunk and he is _not_ a stranger—"

"What's his name then?"

"None of your business!"

"You'll regret it Cecilia."

She flipped him the bird and stormed out of the bar. She even managed to make a gesture at Barbara that she was leaving. Nobody asked for Roy's stupid opinions.

 _Ugh!_ Her blood boiled.

How could she let him get her so angry? Go home with a stranger? Three weeks ago, he had been that stranger! He had no right to intervene with her sex life outside him. They were not exclusive.

He was good in bed, but so had many others that had come before him and she would do to him as she did to them. Cut them loose after the fourth encounter. Continuing after that had proved troublesome.

Barbara poked her head out the door. "Cee! Are you leaving already?"

Cecilia nodded. "I hope you don't mind. I'll call you tomorrow."

"That's a shame," she said, pouting. "There's this gorgeous man at the bar."

The only attractive man left in that bar was Roy, so she was aware that Barbara meant him. With a put-together smile, she said, "Go get him. Forget Corny."

Barbara's confidence skyrocketed. "I will," she said, starting to leave. She stopped. "Don't forget to call me."

The two women blew each other kisses. Barbara reentered the bar like a lion on the prowl. She hoped Barbara could cock block any future encounters she would have with Roy. Once she received confirmation that her friend bagged him the following morning, she would want nothing to do with him.

The bartender exited, apologizing for his tardiness, and draped his coat over her shoulders. "What was up with that guy back there? He an ex-boyfriend?"

Cecilia laughed. "He wishes."

"Well, my place is right up the street."

Cecilia followed him to his house. Once there, he offered her chilled rose wine. She hated it, but she drank it, determined not to ruin the mood.

She realized belatedly that she didn't want to sleep with this man. She didn't feel desire well up in the pit of her stomach as he drove his cock into her. His kisses were sloppy and he sounded like a jackass braying as he came. She found herself thinking about how terrible it was that she barely enjoyed it, and when she came to realize that they were still in the middle of sex, she devoted her time in reaching an orgasm by rubbing her own clit because obviously nobody ever taught this novice how to pleasure a woman.

He pulled out to ejaculate on her stomach long before she climaxed. Prior to it, she had faked her own orgasm, knowing that today was simply not her day.

He dropped onto his side beside her with a proud, satisfied smile. She excused herself to his bathroom to clean up.

Cecilia returned to his room to find him sleeping, snoring loudly. She used that opportunity to redress, pick up her purse and shoes, and leave his house unnoticed.

She took a shortcut home and made a note not to revisit that bar again. The streets were empty, barely lit by the streetlights that she followed to her apartment complex. Her skin was covered in goose bumps when she reached it and she walked into the brown lobby as if she were the spirit haunting it.

Cecilia entered her apartment, securing the door behind her. She walked to her bedroom, took a nightgown from her dresser, and entered the bathroom. She took a hot bath and lingered in the water, staring down at her reflection in its rippled, soapy surface. She resisted the urge to cry. Took it and swallowed it down. There wouldn't be enough tears in her to make the moment pass any quicker.

Her heart ached as she listened to the drip of the faucet.

She hated her stupid apartment for being too big—too empty. She hated the emptiness in her, so weighty despite it being a void so large it could have drowned her in her tub if she ever allowed it.

Cecilia splashed water on her face and sighed. She rose, dried herself off, and slipped into her nightgown.

She dropped onto her bed, curling up on her side, and closed her eyes. Tomorrow would be an early day.

* * *

 **xl** : Har har. Thank you for reading.

Special thank yous to **animexxfreakx** and **WhoisMissa** for reviewing!


	4. Correlations

**Chapter 4** : Correlations

" _Sooo_ , how did you do?" asked Cecilia, making due to her promise to call Barbara the following morning. She wasn't interested in hearing her boast about last night's conquest, but she needed to listen. She needed a detailed account to put out whatever fire Roy Mustang had lit inside her that first night. "Did you have fun?"

"No, I came home to Mr. Fig," said Barbara, the disappointment was obvious in her voice. "That military man wasn't budging."

"Well, that's surprising. I was under the impression that military men were starved for civilian female attention."

"Geez, Cee, don't be rude!"

"Maybe you should have told him he was a monster. I hear some men get turned on when women talk shit to them."

"I am _not_ that kind of woman!"

Cecilia giggled. "I'm sorry, I'm only teasing," she said, hearing Barbara sigh on the line. "Okay, just tell me what happened."

"Well, I invited him back to my place, but he said he was already seeing someone." Barbara sounded disenchanted. "He was sweet though—a real gentleman, actually—and bought me a drink. He was incredibly charming." She paused. "He needs to seriously dump his girlfriend and ask me out."

It wasn't surprising to learn that Roy had a woman. She only hoped that he snagged her after their last sexual encounter because she hated being in the position of the other woman. The knowledge of him having a girlfriend had the same effect as if she had heard Barbara gushing about having slept with him.

Cecilia laughed, amused with her tone. At the same time, she felt a begrudging emotion toward the black feeling that clouded her head after learning about Roy's girlfriend. "Mr. Fig is not that bad, is he?"

"He's worse than bad!"

Barbara would've gone on a lengthy rant if she hadn't interrupted her from starting. "Hey, Barb, I have to go out in a few."

"Work?"

"Yes," said Cecilia. "Your uncle finally bent and gave me some permission to write my article, so I'm going to go organize my notes."

Barbara's uncle was the Editor-in-Chief of the newspaper where Cecilia worked. The revelation had been much more astounding that having been in love with the same man. It had reaffirmed her dislike of the seemingly small world in which she lived. She expected more from a foreign country, but figured her expectations had been set too high for someone that had been living in the same city for two years.

"Oh? What is this one about?" asked Barbara.

"Violence," answered Cecilia. She looked at the clock, realizing she was running late. "Okay, I have to go. I'll call you tonight to see if you want to go out. Good?"

"Okay. Bye, Cee."

"Bye."

Cecilia left her building in a rush. She traveled a few blocks, following the sidewalks west, to a small café. Due to it being partially hidden, it didn't receive as many customers as it deserved. However, the many that did know about it, learning of its existence through word of mouth and an advertisement she had added to a newspaper a year back, enjoyed it for its friendly staff and good food. An old couple owned the establishment while their eldest daughter managed it.

She visited often. The quiet ambience and smell of freshly baked bread relaxed her. She was also well acquainted with the staff that they never minded how long she stayed.

She took her usual seat in one corner of the room underneath a pastel painting of a vase filled with flowers. Eleven other tables sat within her line of sight, big enough to seat four or two in square and circular variations made of dark wood. The glass-encased bakery sat in her periphery with the kitchen sitting through the door behind it, beside all the coffee pots and ingredients atop a counter, and in front of the register. The wallpaper was a soft combination of peach, beige, and a hint of pink in a pattern of small flowers.

A female staffer with a bob of red hair brought her a large mug of coffee with a slice of sponge cake.

"Thank you, Lana," she said, pulling her satchel onto her lap.

Lana smiled. "No problem, Cee. Call me if you need anything else."

The youthful girl went back behind the counter to help a male staffer work through the orders they were receiving from the small line of customers that entered for bread. There weren't many customers seated apart from a couple by the window basking in warm conversation and three others enjoying brunch on their own, two of them brought work like she had.

Cecilia set down her hardcover notebook along with a few related history books she borrowed from the local branch with Petunia Grant's ID. Petunia was part of the secretarial staff at the newspaper, who was assigned to her as an assistant of sorts for the writing period of her article. She was a lovely girl. Thinking of her reminded Cecilia that her birthday was coming up next week and she wrote herself a note inside her notebook, in a section she had bookmarked and reserved for important dates. She would buy her a gift on her way home. She doubted she would leave her house if she found any more relevant material in the books she brought with her.

She marked up the content related or helpful to the topic of her article on various sticky notes and small sheets of paper that she stuck between important chunks. She was about halfway through one and a quarter through the other three books she set on the table.

After having studied a bit about the history of the world before encountering journalism, she made a peculiar note about the Ishval Civil War—beyond the injustice that set it off—in the sense that it reminded her a bit about another war connected to Amestrian history. Once she found one war, she found another. She was quite certain that if she dug enough, she would encounter more throughout Amestrian history.

Cecilia wanted to find correlations in other violent events that happened in Amestris through research while integrating her assumption that either the military planned to continue expanding its territory through more senseless fighting or there were other unknown plans at work. Either way, government conspiracy was right up her preferred alley of work and she wanted to find something real good to stick it to the military. She planned to find something and that would only happen through research, lots of it.

Three hours into her stay in the café, Cecilia thought about something Roy said to her. She likened her thoughts straggling to all the military history and general history that she was reading, but it had her considering his words about her having no firsthand experience participating in the war. She didn't. She knew as much as any of her colleagues did and that didn't substitute for experience. She recognized that when she wasn't being so inflexible on the subject.

She tried to put herself in Roy's shoes, imagining what she would've done in his position—reminded that she had done terrible things in her past—and found it to be a difficult feat to accomplish. She didn't know his thoughts on the subject, only on the surface level, nothing deeper. She couldn't truly understand anything that he went through. She should've stayed quiet. She blamed the alcohol. She could never shut up with enough of it in her system and she had no filter.

Cecilia went shopping for a gift for Petunia in an area heavy with boutiques and thriving with people. She searched through many racks of clothing and counters of accessories for something cute, but recalled an evening several months ago when she had borrowed one of Barbara's perfumes that Petunia had complimented the scent. With that in mind, Cecilia went to a perfume shop to search for a bottle and was fortunate enough to take the last stock home. She bought a small gift bag with tissue paper before taking a bus home.

Overall, she felt satisfied with her work that day. She compiled a fair amount of usable information to write an introduction to her article and provide sufficient facts to support a portion of her argument. She needed more research and she would see it done when she found the time to visit the local library again, though she doubted she missed anything in her previous visits, which made her reconsider going to Central City to pay her boss a visit. The library branches there were larger with better resources. She could use his connections to access even better resources as well.

She would have to call her boss to ask if she could stay at one of his hotels for the duration of the trip she had in mind. She'd have to clear it with the Editor-in-Chief as well, who wouldn't have a choice in allowing her the days off if she received prior permission from their boss. She also needed to finish that article she had put on the backburner so the Editor-in-Chief wouldn't have any relevant qualms in letting her go. That reminded her that she'd need to locate the article in question as the reason she hadn't written it was largely due to the fact that she'd misplaced it.

Reaching the fourth floor of her building, Cecilia was surprised to find a visitor about to knock at her door.

She approached the front door with her key in hand and smiled at Roy. "Mustang," she greeted cheerily. "What brings you to this floor? Do you have a girlfriend living here that I don't know about?"

"Not at all," he said with a hint of a smirk.

Cecilia unlocked the door and pushed it open. He didn't make a move to enter. It astounded her to think he had come all this way to pay her a visit. She imagined he was the type that was courteous enough to end an arrangement like theirs after entering a serious relationship, so she thought she should invite him in and make him comfortable.

"I was about to make coffee," she said, half turning to him. "Want a cup?"

Roy accepted her invitation and followed her inside. She dumped her satchel with all of her research spilling from it and Petunia's gift atop the coffee table in the living room before heading into the kitchen. She prepared the coffee in a matter of minutes, pouring steaming water into two cups and mixing in freshly ground beans until the liquid turned a deep brown color. Its intoxicating scent filled the room.

Cecilia handed Roy a mug and brought hers to her lips, drinking deeply. The scorching drink warmed her body; though it tasted bitter, she preferred it to its flavor after sweetening it with milk and sugar.

Roy walked to the living room, mug in hand, and eyed her work sticking out of her satchel. "You never answered my question last time," he began, looking at her with interest in his eyes. "What kind of work do you do?"

"Journalist," she replied. "Freelance mostly."

"Have you published anything recently?" he asked, stealing another glance at her face.

She joined him, leaning onto the side of her maroon couch. "Do you read independent newspapers?"

"If I can get my hands on copies," he answered, sinking into a seat the armchair. "They tend not to print many." He drank. "They're more honest than those sold to the majority of the public."

Cecilia sat on the couch, holding her mug between both of her hands. "That is why I write for them," she said, the topic alone was enough to elate her. Hearing his compliments for independent newspapers made her feel a little more than she thought possible. She opened her mouth to continue speaking after a short pause, but caught herself and retracted her enthusiasm. She leaned back into the cushions behind her and smiled, needing to control the situation. "Most men I know aren't readers."

"Like that bartender?"

She resisted the urge to snap as a small laugh escaped her. "I was surprised he knew where to put it."

Roy choked on his coffee.

"I had the same reaction," she added casually. She set her coffee down atop her address book on the table. She crossed one leg over the other, watching how his eyes were trailing up the length of the exposed skin that her pencil skirt allowed. "So, did you miss me or is there another reason for your visit?"

"I wanted to make sure you had not been murdered."

She snorted. "For leaving with that bartender?"

"For leaving with a stranger," he corrected.

"Am I missing something?" she asked. She drew a line in the air connecting him to her with her forefinger. "We were half naked before I even thought to ask for your name. And that man was just a bartender, I could kick his ass in my sleep, you on the other hand, are the Flame Alchemist, you could burn me to a crisp in a second flat."

He frowned. "I wouldn't—"

" _No!_ " she interjected, anger bubbling in the pit of her stomach. That was never a good sign. Anger was a step from passion and it was not invited to today's party. "If you are here to sleep with me, fine, let's go, but I did not invite you into my house so you could act like a jealous boy."

She regretted calling him a jealous boy the second he stood abruptly and caged her in her seat, fixing his narrowed eyes on her face looking every bit the word furious. He hovered over her menacingly…and it excited her.

"Take off your clothes," he ordered, his voice low, and a strange shudder swept through her body. " _Now._ "

Cecilia obliged him. She undid the first few buttons of her shirt with shaking fingers. She wondered if she trembled because his tone excited her or if it was the look in his eyes, promising dark pleasures beyond her wildest imaginings. Whatever the reason, she liked him angry. She liked that wicked glint darkening his features.

She removed her shirt and his eyes roamed her bare torso with a hint of surprise. She had chosen today of all days to go without a brassiere.

The feel of his gaze raking her body along with the cold air brushing against her naked breasts made her skin flush.

She unbuttoned the single button on the side of her skirt, dropping the zipper, and lifted her hips, tugging it off her. She hooked her fingers in her underwear, lingering as she looked into his eyes, her chest rising and falling, wondering if he might ask her to keep them on.

He said nothing.

Cecilia got rid of them, tossing them atop the rest of her discarded clothes on the floor.

"What else?" she asked, her skin covered in goose bumps.

"You really are shameless," he bit out, taking her chin in his hand.

She grinned teasingly. "I love it when you talk dirty to me."

Roy answered her teasing by pulling her onto her feet and turning her around. He took her hands and guided them to the couch, bending her over. His mouth pressed against her ear, her hair falling like a curtain down around her face, and whispered, "Don't move."

As he retracted, his gloved hands caressed the length of her body. He rid himself of his gloves and pushed her legs apart. He spread her with his fingers without warning. She sucked in a breath. He drew his two fingers from inside to the tips and thrust them in again, setting a steady pace for each time that followed until they were slick. Her body ready to receive him.

The sound of his belt and zipper coming undone exited her. She trembled in anticipation and grasped onto the couch as he plunged his throbbing erection deep inside her. She opened her mouth, forming words in her mind that fell from her lips in the form of gibberish as he began to move inside of her.

He thrust into her hard, stirring her up. He massaged her breasts, taking them into his firm hands and pinching her nipples. He kissed her upper back, her shoulder, and licked the back of her neck. She arched, pushing her ass against him as he ground into her.

Roy burrowed his fingers into her hips, bruising her skin.

Cecilia sobbed with pleasure, unable to think beyond the heat inside of her growing. He drove her crazy. He planted kisses all along her nape, scrapped his teeth over her skin, and his touch turned gentle, contradicting the manner in which he plunged into her. She responded it the soft caress of her skin in a lapse of judgment.

She had forgotten who it was filling her with pleasure, but he was quick to remind her. Against her ear, he said her name repeatedly, kissing her hair, breathing in her scent. His hips jerked as he drew close to climax.

Sweat covered their joint bodies, the heat filling the empty spaces between them was charged. His hands covered hers, tightening around them until his knuckles blanched.

Cecilia came long before him, her shaky legs made her slip forward. Roy continued to plunge into her until he joined her in the ecstasy of release.

She sank into a seat on the couch, her body sensitive, quaking underneath her skin. Roy sat beside her, not moving away when she leaned against his shoulder.

Cecilia closed her eyes, unconsciously enjoying the comfort his company provided.

"I want you to—"

 _Stay._ Dread welled up in the pit of her stomach. She stopped herself in time, but she saw he was staring at her, expecting to hear the rest of the sentence she started.

"Hmm?"

Cecilia straddled his legs and leaned forward to kiss him. His hands settled on her upper back, pulling her to him and molding her body to his. She started to pull apart his clothes, eager to touch his bare skin against her fingertips.

"I want you to fuck me again," she told him sultrily, fixing her earlier mistake.

Roy slid an arm under her backside and the other around her waist, holding onto her as he rose to his feet. He took her to bed and wrapped up in her, pushed his cock into her. She held onto his muscled arms, groaning into his mouth as he slid his tongue inside, silencing her pleasured cry.

She could feel his muscles flexing under her grip with each of his thrusts.

Night came and went making little difference to them. Cecilia enjoyed the skillful attentions that Roy gave her body. With limbs tangled, rhythmic movements, heavy breaths, and sweat highlighted by the moonlight that filtered into the room, the two basked in the pleasure of physical contact.

She had forgotten all about her blunder. In fact, she had been reminded of what sort of relationship they had. That hadn't hurt her feelings because she understood it.

She only wanted that.

In the morning, Cecilia and Roy sat down for coffee and talked about small, insignificant details in their lives. It was conversation typically encountered when two strangers were starting to get to know one another. Simple questions were asked and answers were given.

"I wanted to apologize," Cecilia said, "about the first night and my bullshit. You were right. I didn't know what I was talking about; it was the alcohol talking. It must have been terrible to be in your position."

"I never expected you to be the type to apologize," he said, astonished.

"I can admit to being wrong when I am," she told him, frowning.

He smiled. "I'll accept your apology," he said, "but you need to tell me your secret with this coffee. The one at my office doesn't taste like this."

"Buy good coffee beans," she replied. "That's the secret."

"It can't just be the coffee beans; you have to put something else in this."

"I don't, I promise."

They drank in tranquil silence for several minutes. As they had woken earlier than usual, they had more time to enjoy each other's company.

"We should talk about this… _arrangement_ ," Cecilia began, setting down her mug. She though it was time to address all of the sex they had been having, especially after last night's marathon of physical activity.

She had considered cutting him loose yesterday, but had had a change of heart, one she had known came with a risk. Purely sexual relationships were not something she recommended for someone like herself, being weak hearted and quick to misunderstand. Her actual relationships always ended in tragedy and she was certain there was nothing in between love and sex, so there was no winning.

As a result, she devised something of a system. She liked to move on quickly from one man to the next—though she was never actively searching for men to satisfy her carnal needs all the time, only when she needed it—to prevent feelings from developing. This worked for her. She kept her high sex drive satisfied and her heart unbroken.

Nevertheless, this _thing_ existing between her and Roy was a foreign attraction to her and their compatibility in bed was unlike anything she had ever experienced with another. She never asked a man anything resembling a personal question because she was never interested in getting to know them, but then she met Roy. Thoughtlessly, but she had. It might have been a bit selfish, but she considered keeping him for a bit longer. She wanted to take the risk because she _felt_ something. Not a yawning void like she had with that gorgeous bartender, who lost all of his appeal by the middle of their encounter.

"Do you want to become my woman that badly, Cecilia?" he teased with a wicked grin. He set his coffee on the table. "Have I met your standards?"

"You caught my interest," she corrected, " _and_ I have obviously caught yours. We would not be falling into bed as often as we do."

"What do you propose?"

"We continue this," she offered, confidence in her voice. She stood up to refill her cup after having realized it was almost empty. She continued to speak as she refilled. "I will be available to you for sex and I will expect the same from you. We can discuss actual availability when proposing encounters, but the arrangement will be simple." She returned the kettle to the stove and walked back to the table, remaining standing. "You don't need to wine and dine me. You don't have to feel inclined to treat me as you would a serious partner. I am not seeking an emotional connection and I can tell we share the sentiment."

He nodded, standing. He advanced towards her. "Does this include a measure of exclusivity?"

"Do you think you need other women to satisfy your needs?" she asked, self-assured.

"You sound very confident in your skill."

"Should I not be?"

He gave her a lopsided smile, moving closer still. She backed into the table and set her mug down to put her hands on his chest. He touched her cheek and brushed his thumb along her bottom lip as he leaned forward. "You are very talented, Cecilia."

Cecilia accepted the slow sensual kiss he gave her, following his lead. In her mind, she knew that she could grow accustomed to his kissing technique. He pulled back, his hands running down from her shoulders to her elbows.

Roy's eyes shifted to the clock on the wall. "Incredibly talented."

He kissed her cheek and his hand slid underneath her short robe to touch her thigh, caressing it lightly. She squirmed, feeling ticklish. His mouth found a sensitive spot on her neck and she moaned, melting into his arms at the same time that he parted her legs with his knee. His fingers found her clit and rubbed the small nub.

He lifted his face up to hers and watched her expression twist into one of pleasure.

"Y-You'll be late," she said, breathless. She rested her forehead on his shoulder, shaking in his hold and moving her hips against his touch.

"Don't worry about that," he whispered, kissing her mouth. "Just enjoy it."

He didn't stop until he made her orgasm.

Cecilia needed to sit down afterward. She watched him finish dressing himself. She felt tempted to seduce him into staying until he was satisfied as well, but she figured that if he wanted to, he would've done it.

"Do you have somewhere to be?" asked Roy.

"I'll be running errands."

He picked his coat up from the couch and pulled it on over his uniform before approaching her again. "Do you have any quick conditions you want to address?"

Cecilia recalled Barbara's words on the phone yesterday morning. "If you have a girlfriend or a wife, tell me now, so that I can dump you, and never speak to you again."

"You ask this now?"

She shrugged. "It slipped my mind."

"There isn't anyone," he assured.

"If there is ever the potential of one, this agreement is done."

"The same goes to you."

"That's settled then."

Roy walked to the door. She left her seat quickly to follow him.

"Will you be busy tonight?" he asked, turning with his hand on the handle.

"No, I won't."

"Expect me."

Cecilia nodded and watched him go. The arrangement would be interesting.

* * *

 **xl** : Oh. Boundaries. Let's see how this goes.

Thank you **Kimono Kay** for the review.

Thank you everyone for reading.


	5. Sparkling Crystal Lights

**Chapter 5** : Sparkling Crystal Lights

"Do you think this is too much?" asked Barbara, turning around to face away from her full-length mirror to show her dress. It was quite appropriate for the occasion, classy and not too short.

"It's just a small dinner party," said Cecilia. "You look fine."

"What about my hair?"

Cecilia picked up Barbara's sequin purse and grabbed her friend by the wrist. "Come on."

"Wait!"

Barbara looked dazzling with her hair in shallow curls and light make up, but she worried too much about her appearance not being enough. Cecilia reassured her about all the way out of her house that she looked beautiful.

"Here, you're driving," said Barbara, tossing her keys at her.

"Why do I have to drive?" she complained.

"Because you're much better at it than I am."

Cecilia sighed. Driving meant she had to be careful not to drink. She didn't mind, but only because she woke up feeling a little under the weather. She double-checked Petunia's address with Barbara before peeling away from the curve and driving to it.

"What did you get her?" asked Barbara, fiddling nervously with her hair.

"Perfume," answered Cecilia. "You?"

"Purse. I got new stock."

"Oh?"

"You should drop in once in a while."

"I will, I will."

"I'm serious. I feel like we haven't spoken on the phone since you stood me up."

"I only promised to call, I never stood you up." Cecilia braked at a red light and tapped on the steering wheel with her nails. "Besides that was like two days ago, don't pretend we haven't hung out. We're doing it right now."

"Have you been hanging out with that bartender then?" asked Barbara excitedly.

"No way."

"It's a shame, he was so hot."

"Yeah."

"Hmmm."

Barbara remained suspicious for the rest of the drive to Petunia's home. Cecilia was fortunate to find an empty place to park. The entire street was filled with cars. People walking along the sidewalks headed up the tall iron gates of Petunia Grant's home, which sat nestled between two equally large adobes in a richer part of the city.

Petunia greeted them in her brightly lit foyer, excited to see them and grateful for their gifts. She was a petite and soft-spoken woman with light brown hair and hazel eyes. She gestured them into a spacious living room filled with guests and servants in three-piece uniforms wadding through with glasses of champagne and finger food.

"Oh, I see my uncle," said Barbara. She leaned forward to exchange an air kiss with Petunia before excusing herself to speak to a bald man towering over the crowd of people.

"I thought you said a small dinner party," commented Cecilia.

"I did," she said bashfully, "but my mom decided to take over. Nobody can stop her once she starts."

The two shared a laugh when a man carrying wine offered them a drink. Cecilia politely refused and asked Petunia if non-alcoholic drinks were served. Upon hearing her ask, the man promised to find her something to drink.

"Darling." A handsome raven-haired male slid an arm around Petunia's waist and kissed the side of her head. "Are you enjoying yourself?"

"Oh, yes," she said, smiling blissfully. "Oh, yes, Peter, you've never met Cee, have you?"

Peter redirected his gaze to her, all smiles. "Ah, the notorious Cecilia Warren, I presume?"

He offered her his hand and she took it.

"I wouldn't say I'm notorious."

"I enjoyed your last advice column," he said. "I'm Peter Grant, the husband."

"Your wife is a dream to work with," complimented Cecilia, watching Petunia's face turn pink with embarrassment.

"You're being too nice, Cee."

"I was about to ask about your current project. Petunia has told me you've been working on it for a while. It's not another smear campaign against the military, I hope."

"I don't have enough dirt yet."

They exchanged a few more words before Peter left them to greet the next group of guests entering their home.

"He was only teasing you," said Petunia. "Don't think he was offended by your campaign. He was actually one of many military—"

"Your husband's a military man?" interjected Cecilia.

Petunia nodded. She patted her shoulder. "Don't think too much about it."

The newest guests swarmed Petunia. Cecilia used the opportunity to excuse herself to join the rest of her coworkers. The servant that promised to get her a non-alcoholic drink found her and handed her a tall glass of pink juice.

She approached Barbara and her uncle, who were seated with others at the couches. She walked up to Melrick Walker to greet him. He stood up to offer her his seat.

"How're you doing?" asked Melrick, leaning up against the couch's arm while touching his scraggly, black beard. He was a broad-shouldered older man with few wrinkles on his face wearing a three-piece suit for the occasion.

"Good. Just exhausted."

"I hope that you're not horsing around instead of writing your article."

"I swear I'm not."

"She's definitely hiding something, though," interjected Barbara.

"Hiding what?" demanded Cecilia. "I'm not."

"This one hiding anything?" Melrick snorted. "She's terrible at keeping secrets, even her own."

Her coworkers were quick to chime in, agreeing with the statement, and everyone laughed. She drank her sweet tasting juice and waited for them to shut up long enough for her to change the subject.

Dinner was held after a half hour in a room large enough to hold a long table and seat every person in the house. The food served was incredible, very expensive and made of the best ingredients. Cecilia enjoyed waiting for every new dish that followed, trying to guess what it could be to the point that Barbara was getting annoyed with her muttering all about it.

The night ended graciously.

Cecilia and Barbara said goodbye to Petunia and headed out to the car. Melrick caught up to them outside. She was sure they had already said their farewells to him, so she figured her had forgotten to tell Barbara anything.

"Have you spoken to Marshall?" he asked, looking directly at her.

"Ah, no."

"Be sure to get his approval for the story you want to print," he told her. "I've already sent him copies of what you've given me. So, do it before you come back into the office with your first presentation."

"I will."

They said goodbye again and walked down the sidewalk to find Barbara's car.

"Have you thought about going to that christening?" asked Barbara.

"I'm considering it."

"Like seriously?"

"You said we should bring hot dates, right? I got one."

Barbara laughed that annoyingly stupid chuckle that she tended to do when she felt vindicated. "Oh? So, you have a hot date?" she asked. "Is it that military man that Joe keeps telling me visits your apartment?"

"I want to know why you're having conversations about the people coming in and out of my apartment with a nineteen-year-old boy."

"No, no, no, that is not the issue here. You have a hot date that you want to flaunt to George. Should you really do that, though?"

"Find someone hot to go with," Cecilia decided. She could definitely hold a grudge. "We're going to show him that we're better off."

"Yeah! We should!" Barbara agreed. "So, are you going to tell me about this hot man?"

She sighed as they approached her car. She went to the driver's side, unlocking the door. "Remember that hot man at the bar?"

"Which one?"

"The one we were at the last time with the hot bartender?"

"Oh yeah, the one with the girlfriend—" Barbara gasped, her eyebrows knitted. "You're his fucking girlfriend and you encouraged me to sleep with him! Don't you know better?"

She should've started the conversation with a precursor of ' _Don't freak out_ ' to prepare her. "I'm not his girlfriend."

"You fucking married him?"

"What? No!"

Barbara blinked at her, dumbfounded. "Okay. Then, what the hell?"

"I did want you to sleep with him," said Cecilia. "I'm sorry."

Her friend frowned. "Go on."

"I wanted a good excuse to stop sleeping with him."

"You know, I get that you're an asshole by nature, but that was low, even for you."

"I said I was sorry."

"So why can't you stop sleeping with him?"

They slid inside the car and Cecilia turned it on, looking at the mirror before driving off.

"Oh, that doesn't matter anymore, we have an arrangement now."

"Great." Barbara exhaled. "I swear if this relationship goes to shit and you come crying to me about it, I'm not going to care at all. You did all of this to yourself. What kind of arrangement is it anyway? Are you sure you want to have any relationship with this man? I hope you're not being stupid. Why would you even agree to it? You never do. In fact, you hate relationships! Do you genuinely like this man?"

"You're worrying too much."

"I'm serious, Cee. This is weird for you."

It was fucking strange. She appreciated how much Barbara appeared to be worrying about it all, but she hardly understood her reasons enough to justify the decision she had taken.

"I don't like him. He's just interesting."

"Well I don't like him."

"Says the woman that wanted him to dump his girlfriend for her."

"That was before I realized you were trying to make me sleep with him! He's too charming! He's in the military, Cee!"

She withheld the fact that he was a State Alchemist because Barbara would not shut up if she mentioned it.

"I know."

"He can't be that good in bed!"

Cecilia didn't say anything.

"Are you serious? He's that good?"

"Barb, you're drunk. Stop talking."

"You never tell me anything!"

Cecilia dropped Barbara off at her house. She practically had to force her through the door as she continued making absurd assumptions about her relationship with Roy.

She returned home in a cab. Upon entering her apartment, she kicked off her heels and tossed her purse onto her couch. She unpinned her hair and picked up a bottle from her liquor shelves in the kitchen. She took it into the bathroom and bathed for a length amount of time, overindulging in alcohol.

Barbara was right. Her behavior was odd. The fact that she agreed to a lengthy arrangement was weird. Her interest in Roy scared her a bit because there was a thin line between it and romance.

She didn't believe in romance. It never existed for her, so she had given it up. She was adamant on keeping it that way and she knew she could make her arrangement with Roy stay casual. She'd know better than to start liking him.

Barbara was insane.

In celebration of Barbara's insane assumptions, Cecilia got herself drunk while soaking in the bathtub until she remembered Melrick asked her to call their boss about her article. She crawled out of her tub and went to find the house phone. She amazed herself with her ability to articulate her words to the operator on the other end of the receiver, who connected her call.

" _Hello_ ," answered a groggy male voice on the other end.

"Silas, it's me, Cecilia."

" _Okay._ "

"Mr. Walker sent you my article, right? I need your approval, so save the lecture and give me permission to write."

She heard a very heavy, very exasperated sigh on the other end that prepared her for the lecture.

" _We discussed this, Cee. You cannot write articles like this. I'm not—_ "

"No, no, listen, this is important! You got the notes I gave Walker, right? Then you know something is definitely fishy about the information!" she argued, but knew that he was not the least bit happy about it. "You have to let me write—"

" _You are fortunate I had enough connections to keep you out of the spotlight after your campaign,_ " he reprimanded. " _Look, we talked about limiting your—_ "

"I'm not going to stop writing the damn thing!" she snapped. "And it's got nothing to do with being in the spotlight. It's just a stupid _"Did you know…?"_ type of article. It's stupid information for people to learn a little bit of history if they don't already! And it's not even going to be under my name! I'm not bringing attention to myself, so just approve the damn thing and let me get on with it!"

" _…Are you drunk?_ "

"No!"

" _Okay, you are. We're not having this conversation. Call me tomorrow morning when you're sober._ "

The line went dead. Cecilia stared at her phone and rolled her eyes. How did he even know?

Whatever.

She returned the phone to the receiver and wobbled into the bathroom to drain the tub. She walked into her room after drying her body and knocked out as soon as she crawled under the blankets.

Loud banging on her front door disturbed her sleep the following morning. The suddenness of waking plagued her with a painful headache. She dragged herself out of bed, wrapped up in her comforter, and made her way to the door.

"Stop knocking!" she yelled, as she unlocked and opened her front door.

A square-jawed man with his pale blond hair combed neatly stood before her dressed in a fitted suit.

She frowned, moving aside to let him in. "Sheesh, what dragged you out of Central City?"

"Did you forget where your clothes were?"

"I can sleep naked if I want, Silas."

Silas Marshall entered her home and she shut the door behind him. "I do hope you're alone."

"I am."

"I had business here," he said, turning to face her. They were standing in the short hallway in front of the door. "This will be a short visit. I'll provisionally approve your article. Ultimate decision to print will be on me. I've already sent instructions for Mr. Walker on the matter. Once I receive your final draft, I'll decide whether it'll make it out into the public or not. If it is as innocent as you claim it is, you have nothing to worry about, but if it is what I assume it is, it's not making it anywhere near the printer."

Cecilia wasn't nearly as awake as she would have liked for this visit. She decided to concede because she didn't want to argue, not with this headache anyway.

"Fine."

His naturally harsh expression softened. "Look, Cee, it isn't that I'm trying to censor your opinion, I'm only—"

She raised her hand and he quieted. "I understand. I'm grateful."

He moved a few feet away to look at her clock. "I'm going now."

Silas walked past her. His hand was on the handle when he spoke up again. "Oh, and one more thing."

"What?"

He faced her. "Roy Mustang"—the shock she felt showed in her expression—"please remember to get rid of him."

She glared at him. "What?"

"You don't want to stay involved with him too long."

"Why?"

"Because when you fall in love with him and reveal who you are, he will use you for his benefit…and he could benefit plenty."

It annoyed her that he used the word ' _when_ ' instead of _'if_ ' as if he knew that she was guaranteed to do it. "I am not going to fall in love with him. I'm not that stupid. Besides, he doesn't seem too dangerous a person—"

"We are not arguing about this. I'll be expecting you home soon."

"You can't have—"

"Goodbye, Cecilia."

Silas left her apartment.

What was with everyone these days? She wasn't looking to marry Roy Mustang, so she didn't understand Barbara and Silas' decision to have an opinion on the matter when they usually cared very little about the men with whom she had involved herself.

"So nosy."

* * *

 **xl** : Oh mah gawd, secrets.

Thank you **Kimono Kay** and **Nameless I am** for the reviews. I appreciate all of the follows/favorites as well. I do hope that you will continue to enjoy the story.

I will see you next week with a new chapter. Thank you for reading.


	6. Interval I

**Chapter 6** : Interval I

Roy returned to Cecilia's apartment so often that it was like a bad habit. It hadn't mattered before, but he'd been quiet about his romantic entanglements at work to the point that his subordinates suspected that something was wrong with him (though it wouldn't surprise him if Hawkeye knew that there was an actual woman involved). He had to think about acting naturally on a round-the-clock basis and that had stifled his flexibility.

The alternative option was putting an end to his agreement with Cecilia, though he wanted to avoid it. Cecilia was addictive. Even if he wanted to quit her, he couldn't. The sex had only gotten better since they had become better acquainted with each other's bodies. He learned that she preferred to steer and feel powerful, but that her body quaked when overpowered and taken hard. He knew that whispering in her ear made her melt and that she loved his tongue torturing the sensitive flesh between her legs.

The arrangement was a terrible idea despite all of its temptations and pleasures. He recognized that. It served as a glaring reminder of the loneliness that he had constantly ignored. She had her reasons, too; perhaps, they were similar, though he wouldn't know because she kept her secrets close. However, they already knew that whatever had started would end disastrously, but by the time they had opened their minds to acknowledge it, it was too late.

They were in too deep.

Maybe it was cleansing, apart from it being a smidgen of time when their worlds collided resulting in some semblance of normalcy. The small timeframes they shared were an image of what their lives should have been. Complete. Comfortable. Uncomplicated. Passionate. Unpredictable. Healing.

Maybe committing this mistake was what they needed.

Roy was on his back with an arm wrapped around Cecilia's naked shoulders. Her head rested on his upper arm, her right hand drew circles over his chest, her cheeks were flushed, and her body fit perfectly at his side. They basked in the afterglow of sex, unable to sleep.

Her green eyes were bright as she stared at his face and he looked at hers. For many moments, they looked at one another in what felt like a trance. It wasn't awkward. It was comfortable. He could see the curiosity to ask him for something brimming in her.

"What is it?"

"I was wondering why we never go to your place," she answered.

He wasn't inviting her over for any particular reason. It was easier for him to go to her apartment because the building sat close to Eastern Command. The drive was a short one. His home wasn't quite as _warm_ as hers. He owned only what he needed.

"It's empty," he told her. "It isn't like yours."

She rose above him, smiling mischievously. "An empty house sounds like it would give us a lot of room to do everything we could think of."

"I'll take you Friday night," he decided, intrigued by her suggestion. "I have a day off."

"Friday?" she questioned.

"Do you have plans?"

She sat up, holding the sheet against her breasts, and looked away pensively. "I was invited to a christening. You should come with me."

Roy got up, surprised by the invitation. "To the christening?"

"Yeah. My friend was going to come with me, but she's taking a date and I really don't want to be a third wheel. Short notice, I know, but you're probably the last person I can ask."

"I can go."

Cecilia smiled.

"You can visit my house tomorrow night," he added. "I'll take you."

"I'll be waiting." She moved to the edge of the bed, picking up a robe from the floor. "I'll make coffee."

She pulled it on over her body, giving him a small glimpse of her naked back, and tied it at the waist.

"I've never asked this"—she turned around to him as she pulled her hair free from her robe—"but what kind of hours do you work? You appear to have a lot of free time on your hands."

Cecilia laughed. "That's a funny question."

He waited for her to continue, but she said nothing about it.

"So, are you going to answer the question?"

"Freelance work is freelance work. I work when I want."

She walked out of the room to prepare coffee. According to the small clock atop her dresser, he had time.

Conversation happened more often between them since they had come to their agreement. It was never serious and never delved deep, but it happened every night post-coitus until they slept until morning and their routine would continue. She would make delicious coffee and they would sit, speaking for another spell if he had the time to spare, and parted ways if either one was running late.

As Roy pulled on fresh clothes that he had left in her closet, he acknowledged that they had truly entered a routine.

* * *

 **xl** : Two chapters because they were short this week. A bit transitional though. **  
**

Thank you always to **Nameless I am** and **Kimono Kay** for the reviews.


	7. Interval II

**Chapter 7** : Interval II

Roy welcomed Cecilia into his house. She entered brimming with curiosity and wandered his home, opening every door she encountered as she observed her surroundings with a hint of a smile and entering every room. She touched the walls and the surface of what little furniture he possessed, laughing when she came upon a single black leather couch in the expansive living room.

He walked up behind her and pulled her back to him. She wore a simple white dress underneath her coat that draped over her slender frame beautifully. The fabric was thin and smooth. It felt like water in his hands. He kissed her neck and she giggled.

He wrapped his arms around her and kissed the same spot, enjoying the sound of her laugh.

"Stop it!" she cried as he moved on to tickling her sides. "Mustang! No, it tickles!"

She tried to escape him, but he chased her around the room until they stumbled over the couch. She fell into the cushions with his body crushing hers. Laughing, she peppered kisses all over his face, purposely avoiding his lips, knowing that he searched for hers.

Cecilia shoved him playfully, but he clasped her wrists and pinned them above her head. She wiggled underneath him, her entire demeanor changed as if she knew where their chase would lead them from the start.

He reached for his necktie, loosening it, and he pulled apart the first three buttons of his shirt. She evaded him when he tried to kiss her, giggling in response. Instead, he leaned in to nip at her throat and made her gasp.

He licked and sucked on her flushed skin, feeling her shudder with a soft whimper of her voice. His mouth traveled slowly to her shoulder as he slid the strap of her dress out of the way and further down. He released her wrists as he kissed her chest through the watery fabric of her dress. He caressed her arms, touching her. She snickered.

"That tickles, Mustang!"

Roy lifted his head. "You're spoiling the mood, Cecilia."

Cecilia covered her mouth, speaking in a muffled voice, "I can stop."

But she couldn't.

Cecilia laughed no matter what he tried until she wiggled her way out from under him and fell to the floor, giggling madly. Roy sank down into a seat in front of her and watched her lie back as he pulled her legs over his and ran his hands over the smooth skin of her thighs.

"I do like your house," she told him. "It's spacious. It looks too big for one person, though. It's a bit obnoxious, but that's just like you, so it wasn't too much of a surprise."

He pinched her outer thigh and she slapped his hand reflexively.

"I was only joking, you are so far from obnoxious," she said. "I would never think of you that way. _Ever_."

"Now you're being sarcastic."

She laughed and began to move one of her legs side to side. Her skirt slid down the length of her thigh.

Roy ran his hand from her knee to her hip, moving it back and forth slower each time.

"I have a question I've been meaning to ask," she said, shifting. "If you don't mind."

"What is it?"

"You'll have to excuse me for putting my foot in my mouth, but humor me a bit."

"Okay."

"It has to do with that day with the bartender," she continued, sitting up in his lap. Her legs were folded at his sides and her hands were on his chest. "There was a beautiful blond at the bar and I know for a fact that she went to sit with you."

"Are you worried I slept with your friend?" he asked, trying to read her expression.

"Worried?" She scoffed. "No. I wanted you to sleep with my friend."

Roy recalled the evening in question. He had walked inside the bar and had seen Cecilia seated with the blond. Cecilia had gone away with the bartender and her friend had taken the seat beside him. He had believed it to be Cecilia's idea of a joke, so he had lied about seeing someone. He had realized after he had said it that he had not meant it to bat the woman away, but that he had hoped the information would reached Cecilia and that it would bothered her. He had been under the impression that it'd give him an upper hand in whatever game she was playing.

He received an answer the following day when they decided on their arrangement and she reaffirmed it again today. She wouldn't have suggested that they become lovers, so long as he wasn't involved with another seriously, and she wouldn't have brought it up now.

He needed some control in their relationship and decided that baiting her into becoming his lover was his way of doing it.

"I didn't think you'd recommend me," he replied, going along.

She rolled her eyes. "As if you're worth the recommendation."

"Should I sleep with your friend then? Maybe she'd recommend me."

"You can, but you'd lose the great privilege of sleeping with me if you did," she assured. "We don't share men. At least not intentionally."

"Have you shared men?" he asked, curious for more information to use to tease her.

"That was a long time ago and a length story. It was all coincidence." She brushed it off. "Let's not talk about that. I came here for a reason. So, can we get to it? I have an early morning tomorrow and I'm horny."

Cecilia unbuckled his belt with a saucy smile. The straps of her dress had fallen to her arms, the sleek fabric barely hung off her breasts. He could see the curve of them and of her nipples straining against the slip. He leaned down to kiss her chest as she fumbled with his pants and moved until her crotch was rubbing against him; the friction between them aroused him.

She unzipped his pants and slid her hand inside, releasing his half-hardened cock to her delicate touch. She stroked him, kissing him long and hard.

Roy relaxed underneath her slight weight and with every pump of her hand, the pleasure built up fast. He was painfully hard and ready to burst when she drew back, lifting herself up to guide him inside the scorching heat of her body. Moaning deeply, she sank down and took all of him. She was tight.

Cecilia placed her hands on his shoulders and started to move. He sat back to watch the sensual movements of her body. He didn't need any more reminders of her beauty, but they came often. He was mesmerized by her. Just looking at her face, cheeks flushed, lips parted and heaving, and her eyes closed as she relished in the pleasure brought him satisfaction.

Roy wondered if this was her idea of a distraction. She avoided talking about herself by initiating sex, but…he did too. Whenever something they didn't want to talk about came up, they jumped into bed.

They didn't need to know the intimate details of each other's lives, just the pleasures they could bring one another.

Roy pulled Cecilia off him abruptly and took her to bed. He pushed her down on her stomach and thrust into her hard. She cried out in pleasure and gripped the sheets. He drew back to sink himself deeper inside her warmth. He repeated the movement, filling her again and again and again. He slowed to stir her up until he was thrusting into an overwhelming heat.

Cecilia's body quaked and her voice thinned, turning breathy. She writhed under him, clawing at the bed. He leaned over her body, taking hold of her hands. He held them tight as she gasped, her back arched against him.

"Mustang!" she gasped. "More. I want more."

He pressed his mouth to her ear. She tightened against him upon feeling his breath brush against her. "More what?"

She moaned, no doubt feeling him harden. "Harder, Mustang," she said, heaving. She grasped at his fingers. "Please."

His knuckles blanched, their fingers entwined, his curled underneath hers. He felt every shudder that rocked her and could tell by the tightness of her along with the contractions that she neared her peak.

Roy clenched his jaw. He was close. He couldn't hold back anymore. His body covered hers, his forehead sat against her shoulder. He didn't want to waste more time. He thrust into her like a piston and her wanton body milked him. He didn't stop after his orgasm ended. He made certain that she was as pleasured as he was. He reached under her to touch her sensitive clit and rubbed slow circles around it, applying the slightest hint of pleasure. He listened to the tempo of her voice to determine how hard or slow to go until she could no longer form words. Her cries were short breaths until she tensed…then relaxed.

She expelled a breath.

Roy brushed her hair back away from her face and kissed her, feeling short of breath himself. He lifted his body up and she moved, turning over to lie on her back. She slipped her hands behind his neck and wrapped her legs around his body.

"Don't tell me you're done already," she teased.

"Far from it," he assured, kissing her lips briefly. Against her lips, he continued, "Tell me what you want."

Cecilia stared at him silently, her breathing leveled. "I want you to go slow."

"Slow?" he questioned, then smiled. "You want to be treated gently?" He caressed her face and watched her nod, her pink lips parting as his thumb ran across them. "You want me to touch your body softly?" His hand slid down to her neck. He made sure his touch was ghostly and observed her expression. He followed the smoothness of her flesh to her breast and purposely brushed the pads of his fingertips over her erect nipple. He watched her pale skin grow pink, saw the shudder that coursed through her. "Like this, princess?"

She frowned. "Don't call me princess."

"You never minded it before," he said, his hand on her navel and venturing further south to feel the hair on her mons. He lowered his eyes, raising his palm to steal a glance at it, light brown and fine. "So, you're really a brunette, huh?"

"Yeah," she replied breathily, "but black is more my color—"

He dipped a finger inside of her to gauge her reaction. She was still sensitive. "I agree," he said, leaning down to kiss her stomach. "Your skin looks incredible against black."

Roy focused on pleasuring her for the rest of their evening. He expected her to stay the night, but was surprised to see her slide out of bed to pick up her clothes. She slipped into her dress and turned, catching him staring.

Maybe he made his desires obvious, or maybe she was a mind reader even though she denounced the gift at the bar, but she surprised him when she spoke.

"If you want me to stay the night, you're going to need a bigger bed," she told him. She walked to the side of the narrow bed. It was true, they were a bit cramped, but he didn't think it'd be a problem. She leaned forward to kiss him. "I'll see you later."

Roy sat up as she moved away. "Wait, I'll take you home."

"No, I'm fine," she said. "I can make it back on my own."

"I insist," he pressed.

"If I let you take me home, I'll just want to do you again and then well be too exhausted in the morning. Rest up."

Cecilia was out the door fast, leaving him no room to insist further. He'd chase her down. He could've, but he thought about it better. She was right. They both had early work early tomorrow. If he drove her home, she'd make it impossible for him to drop her off in front of her building. He'd want to walk her up to her apartment and if she kissed him goodbye, he'd want to push her up against the wall to ravish her again.

He sank back into bed, grumbling. "What's wrong with my bed?"

After hearing his front door shut, he got out of bed and walked up to his bedroom window. It overlooked the street and he wanted to make sure that she at least made it across the road without issue.

Cecilia walked down the street after checking both ends as she pulled on and buttoned her jacket.

* * *

 **xl** : Thank you for reading. I will see you next week with a new chapter.


	8. The Library

**Chapter 8** : The Library

Cecilia dropped into the library to return the stack of books she borrowed several weeks ago and decided to stay to ask if the books she had requested last time were available. The employee at the information desk redirected her to the history section with a written list of locations. She didn't plan to stay long. She had planned a quick visit, so she had time to go shopping for a gift to take to the christening that Friday, but she'd realized that she had forgotten to remove her work notebook from her purse and seeing it there beside her wallet tempted her to work a little.

She searched the history section for relevant books with the potential to support her article on Amestrian military violence and its correlations with larger events in history. She needed to spruce it up before running it by Melrick because he wasn't as convinced as she was that it'd make a good article. Neither was Silas, despite giving her his permission. She understood Silas' worry for her, but if that was going to be his reaction to her writing what she wanted, he shouldn't have talked her into taking a job as a freelance journalist. She would've been fine doing other work so long as she didn't have to go back and finish her initial professional training.

Her expectations for her article weren't particularly high in seeing it printed. She didn't think she'd be able to get away with making it believable. She wasn't an experienced writer. She doubted in her ability in making the article interesting for people to read, not even with the hook of how most violent events in history were eerily similar. The subject alone made her feel odd. She would've normally dropped this type of project as soon as her gut feeling struck. If she'd known that it wouldn't make it to print, she'd forget about it and move onto a more printable story (or in her case, finish the one she'd been ignoring in favor of this one).

However, Cecilia had no way of explaining what it was about this particular article that made her feel as though she needed to write it. She didn't view it as stellar news and she certainly didn't want to publish it because she wanted to put a new conspiracy theory on the map.

It had nothing to do with any of those things. She figured it was a more selfish story because the alternatives didn't fit. She wanted to write it because it was something that interested her. She had a knack for history. Although she wasn't its most avid seeker, she took whatever opportunity she had to expand her knowledge of it. The article was just the thing she needed to learn more, particularly where wars were concerned, their effects on people, as well as the more tragic events that followed.

Cecilia picked out a stack of new books to take to a table. She decided that she'd picked out an adequate amount of material, but wanted to hurry and return to double check in case she missed one that she hadn't already read that could be useful. She turned the corner at the end of the two rows of bookshelves and ran straight into a dark-haired man walking in, dropping all but one of the books she carried.

"Sorry!"

"I'm sorry!"

They apologized in unison and sank down to pick up her fallen books.

"I should have been paying attention," said Cecilia quickly, looking up at the man as he stacked one book after the next into her hands. He wore a military man's uniform and rectangular glasses. His hair was short, combed messily, and his jaw was squared and bearded. He smiled like a goof as he placed the last of her books on her stack. "Thank you, you didn't need to help me at all."

"I wasn't looking much either," he said sheepishly.

"Hughes!"

The bearded man looked over his shoulder as Cecilia felt her face twist in confusion. She recognized that voice. Not long after she had felt the familiarity, she had come face to face with Roy, who came to stand beside the man she had nearly toppled over.

"Don't just run off on your own—" Roy noticed her as she stood up. "Cecilia? What are you doing here?"

"Working," answered Cecilia.

"Oh, do you know each other?" the bearded man asked, curious, looking from Roy to her.

"Do you know Cecilia?" asked Roy, not paying attention.

"I do now," the man answered, offering his hand for a handshake. She took it. "I'm Maes Hughes, Roy's best friend."

"I wouldn't say _best_ ," said Roy, but Maes ignored him.

"Nice to meet you, Cecilia," finished Maes.

"Cecilia Warren," she introduced, shaking his hand firmly. "I'm a new friend."

"Why haven't we met before?" asked Hughes playfully.

"I don't have any obligation to introduce you to any of my friends," Roy stated, frowning.

"Don't listen to him, he's just embarrassed of me," remarked Cecilia, playing along. "Well, I should get back to work. Please, excuse me."

"Wait a minute, I thought you were a journalist," blurted Roy, earning a confused look from his friend. "Why are you working in a library?"

"Do you honestly think freelance journalism is that great a job? I get paid per story. Last I checked I've been wasting a lot of time not writing. At least here I have the luxury of a job that pays normally."

"Are you serious?"

"No. My family is rich. I don't need to work. I'm just wasting time." Cecilia turned to Maes. "Nice to meet you."

As she walked back to her table, she heard Maes say, "You have my blessing."

"It's not like that!" snapped Roy.

"Oh? Really?"

Maes laughed boisterously.

Cecilia sat down at an empty table and went straight to work. She flipped through many of the titles and jotted down useful notes. She set aside the books she planned to borrow to be able to work at her leisure at home. As she worked, she found herself a bit distracted by the fact that Roy was at the library. She was too aware of his presence. She could feel him staring at her from the narrow walkway between the shelves directly in front of the tables while Hughes went about his business.

She avoided looking up, but couldn't stop herself from smiling. It was hard to concentrate with his eyes observing her every move.

When she felt the opportunity was right, she stole a glance at Roy to find him missing and startled after realizing Maes was approaching her table. She tried to make her actions seem natural, but this bespectacled man appeared observant.

"It seems Roy can't take his eyes off you," he said, pausing.

"I've noticed," she said, fighting the urge to smile.

"I've never seen anyone catch his interest to this extent."

Cecilia giggled. "That's definitely not the case."

Maes grinned. He didn't believe any of it.

He excused himself to meet up with Roy, who emerged from one of the shelves with a book that he handed to him. Hughes patted Roy's shoulder before heading to the front desk.

Cecilia made accidental eye contact with Roy. He made his way to her.

"Hey."

"Hey yourself," she said. "Did you need a book from my stack?"

"No," he said. "I figured it'd be rude to leave without saying goodbye. So, goodbye." He started to walk away, but paused, turning back to her. "Oh, right? I'll see you Friday. Should I bring anything?"

She smiled, happy he remembered. "Just yourself."

He continued on his way.

Cecilia was amused by his behavior. He was a little awkward, not unlike his usual confident self. "Mustang?"

Roy stopped and turned again. "Yes?"

"Is your weekend busy?"

"I have Saturday afternoon and onward free."

"What do you say to dinner at my house Saturday night?" she proposed.

"Dinner?" He expressed a bit of shock. "Sure. What time?"

"Eight."

"Okay."

Cecilia watched him leave together with Hughes, who spared her a look and waved when he saw she stared at them. Once they were gone, she found herself unable to research anymore.

The realization sank in all too quickly. She invited Roy to dinner. She made a mistake. This wasn't a part of their arrangement, but neither was going out together to a christening. She was making mistakes left and right and only noticed it now.

She was horrified. Had she crossed the line?

Shit.

Cecilia stuffed her notebook and pen back into her purse and started to stack up all of the books that she had spread across the table. She decided to take all of them home. She had plenty of shopping to do now that she invited Roy over for dinner on Saturday. First, she would need a christening-appropriate gift and next, she would need extra groceries.

She went up to the front desk to check out the books and when prompted, she gave Petunia's name and ID. Given the weight of the books in her arms, she decided to go home and drop them off before running her errands. She worried all the way home about what would be appropriate for Saturday's dinner.

She wished she had a way to go back in time to stop herself from asking him to dinner when she entered her apartment. She dropped the books off on her coffee table and returned to the front door to shut it.

She didn't want to get into it again, yet she had already made two bad moves.

Cecilia took a deep breath to calm herself. She started to think things through. There were people in similar relationships that shared dinner as well as intimacy, not to mention, she and Roy had been having coffee for a while now. Dinner was just an excuse to fuel up for their next romp.

Yes, that's it. She hadn't messed up in the least.

The christening too. She was just using Roy because she wanted to take someone attractive with her to serve as a huge "fuck you" to George Perkins for screwing her over. Nothing wrong.

"But what should I make?" Cecilia sank down into a seat on her couch. She'd need to know what she would be preparing so she could buy all the necessary ingredients later. "I should have asked if he was allergic to anything."

* * *

 **xl** : Some of these chapters are very short, like 1k words short, and normally I feel that is appropriate for weekly updates - word count-wise, I guess - but I like to at least post 2k chapters on a weekly basis, so you are going to get a double again this week. (Well, this long ass author's note boosted my word count, but this chapter was really only 1.7k. Not too much.)

I'm going to be super busy and moving into my apartment for the new quarter in September (plus getting a few things organized), but I wanted to say that this story will continue being updated on a weekly basis, mostly because I have the chapters edited already. All I really do is try to think up something witty to write at the end. It never works out for me.

If anyone is a Hunter x Hunter fan and likes/loves Hisoka and wants to read a really gross HisokaOC one-shot I wrote, I posted it on my page. It's called **Horticulture**. It's really bad. As you can probably see, I give myself a lot of bad promo. I don't trust myself with stuff.

Thank you **Kimono Kay** and **animexxfreakxx** for your lovely reviews and support.

Please enjoy the next chapter, which is the actual christening...I think. Don't trust me.


	9. Hesitation

**Chapter 9** : Hesitation

Roy offered to pick up Barbara and her mystery date on the day of the christening. There was some reluctance and polite rejection on their part, but he insisted. He admitted to Cecilia that he felt better about doing so.

Cecilia couldn't help but feel a bit anxious sitting in the front seat of Roy's car. She dressed up appropriately for the event. She wore a fitted dress with heels, her hair was combed back into a high ponytail, and she wore make up. He'd complimented her, too. It'd made her uncharacteristically giddy and that had terrified her.

She was acting like an idiot. She reminded herself to breathe and tried to calm down as she offered Roy directions to Barbara's house. She tried making small talk during the ride to make the fact that they were going somewhere together less awkward. She reminded herself that this wasn't a date and that Saturday's dinner wasn't one either.

Barbara and her date stood outside of her house. Cecilia and Roy exited his car to greet them properly. Roy and Barbara were acquainted after meeting at the bar, so she didn't worry about introducing them.

She went straight to the tall stranger beside her and offered him her hand. "I'm Cecilia Warren."

The man excitedly took hand, smiling widely. "It's a pleasure to meet you, Miss Warren, I'm Cornelius Fig."

Holy motherfucking shit.

Cecilia's eyes were as wide as saucers and her mouth agape from the shock. She always envisioned Barbara's pestilent nightmarish stalker as a short, bald, bespectacled loser, but this man—she looked at Barbara, who stared at her in confused.

Cornelius Fig was hot. He stood at an impressive six feet, his shoulders were broad, and his body was built strong with muscle underneath his suit. His hair was a dusty brown and his eyes were a lovely shade of blue.

"Cee!"

Cecilia snapped out of it and remembered she hadn't introduced Mustang when he took care of it himself. Once that was over with, they got into his car and Barbara took over directing them to the Perkins' home.

They were greeted at the entrance by an older woman that introduced herself as the grandmother and welcomed them in when her daughter spotted Cecilia and Barbara and made a big deal out of greeting them. She hugged each of them with huge smiles and introduced them as " _George's cousins_."

Emma Perkins insisted on introducing them to her son, Aaron, before calling over George to say hi to them. As expected, when George approached, looking as gorgeous as she remembered him with his striking hazel eyes and perfectly coifed blond hair, his reaction was outlandish.

"I thought you wouldn't make it," he said nervously.

"Our schedules cleared up quite suddenly," said Barbara.

"Yup," said Cecilia, crouching down in front of bright-eyed Aaron, who had taken after his mother's delicate looks. She patted his blond head with a friendly smile on her face. "Besides, we couldn't miss little Aaron's big day. We are his aunts after all."

Aaron giggled, reaching for her hand.

"We would never!" added Barbara.

They savored George's expression and when he found the perfect excuse to get away, he did, leaving them with their companions to mingle with the rest of their guests. Cornelius went to find drinks.

"I take it you're not really his cousins?" asked Roy.

"Nope, he's just some asshole we're well acquainted with," answered Barbara.

Roy glared at Cecilia. "Oh?"

"You should reconsider hanging out with Cee so much," said Barbara. "She's a total asshole."

"Hey, we're talking about that other asshole; let's not bring me into this."

Roy smirked.

"I'm going to mingle."

Barbara walked off, moving between the guests until she disappeared. The party was held in a brightly lit courtyard.

"What's this about?" asked Roy, moving to stand beside her.

"Just another bad idea, I guess." Cecilia felt emotionally heavy. "I shouldn't have come." She looked at him. "I'm going to find the bathroom. I need some air."

"We're outside."

"Bathroom air!"

Cecilia went to find George's wife and asked if she could use her bathroom. She went inside the house after she was given directions and stared at her face for several minutes in the mirror inside. She washed her hands thoroughly and braced herself for a lengthy evening, though she was already thinking up plans to shorten it.

She exited into the small hallway that she took to get there and saw George waiting for her outside, leaning against the wall. Despite, the heartache he caused her, she couldn't deny that he looked just as beautiful as the day she had fallen in love with him. Thinking about it alone made her hurt.

Shit.

"Who is he?" asked George.

"Isn't it pretty creepy of you to stand outside the bathroom waiting for someone to come out of it?"

"I asked you a question."

"Yeah, so did I."

George frowned, advancing towards her. He pinched her chin between his forefinger and thumb, forcing her face up. "This isn't a joke, Cecilia, this is my family." His expression softened a smidgen. "Look, I know I wrote you that letter and I meant it, I miss you, but this is my family."

She took his wrist. "You forget," she started, forcing his hand away from her face, "but you are the one that decided Barbara and I were your cousins. You should've been honest with your wife and told her you were sleeping with us. If you had, you wouldn't have to deal with us now. We were just being polite. After all, Emma did go out of her way to invite us."

The letter that he had snuck in with her invitation had left her frustrated. In it he had written that he missed her and wanted to be with her, but that he couldn't get away from his family (speaking as if she were still hung up on him, ready to take him back the instant he threw himself at her).

He took an unexpected step forward. "Is that all? Are you sure you weren't missing me?"

She hit her back against the wall trying to maintain the distance between them. George pressed his body against hers and she stiffened, feeling ill.

"I'm not interested in anything you're offering," she said, "now, get away from me or I'll break your arm."

He reached up to caress her face and she grasped his wrist, pulling it away from her. She punched him with her free hand and followed that up with a knee to the gut. He dropped down on one knee, straining for breath.

Cecilia composed herself and sighed. "You should probably wipe the blood off your face before returning to the party," she told him, starting to walk away. She halted, feeling oddly satisfied after hitting him. She was against violence as a means of a solution to any problem, but she hated that George thought he had a chance with her after everything—the pompous asshole. "Oh, and don't worry, I didn't break your nose."

She walked down the hallway and turned the corner where she stopped abruptly, seeing Roy. She averted her eyes and quietly walked around him, returning to the party.

They decided to leave after another hour of awkward mingling. The night was a disaster for all of them.

Roy dropped off Barbara and Cornelius then drove Cecilia home. She waited for him to say something the entire ride there, but he didn't. They didn't even speak.

Cecilia reached to open the door after he parked near her building, but he opened his mouth and she stopped. She looked at him, returning her hand to her lap.

"Cecilia," he started. He turned the car off and took the key out, leaning back in the seat. "That man…you're in love with him."

What?

"No, I'm not—I don't love him."

"He loves you if he's on his knees in front of you."

He didn't see her put him there. She didn't know if that was a good or bad thing.

"I punched him."

"What?"

"I hit him," she repeated. "I asked him not to touch me, but he tried it anyway."

"What? That bastard!" His grip on the steering wheel tightened. "You should've said something!"

"I can handle people like that."

"This party was about him, wasn't it?" he asked, irate.

"I'm sorry I involved you. It was stupid."

"What was your purpose?"

"I just wanted to annoy him." She laughed, feeling stupid about admitting it. "There was no real purpose. I was just angry with him. He's—he's an asshole and he owed me more than I gave him. This is—I just…none of this is—I'm just sorry. I'm sorry for involving you in this. I won't do this again."

She opened the car door.

"Cecilia," he started.

"No. Again, I'm sorry." She exited quickly and shut the door, rushing to her building.

"Cecilia, wait!"

She turned to see him getting out of his car to follow her. He caught up to her inside and blocked her path to the stairs. She grew frustrated.

"I don't want to talk about this! I already apologized! I owe you nothing more!"

Roy's expression changed. He sidestepped out of the way.

She felt ill. This was all wrong.

"If you don't want to come tomorrow…it's okay, I'll understand."

"No," he said. "I'll come."

She nodded.

She waited for him to walk past her, but he reached out to touch her hand. She turned her head as his other hand came to rest on her cheek. He placed a chaste kiss on her lips.

"Goodnight Cecilia."

He released her.

"Goodnight."

* * *

 **xl** : The initial plan was for the christening to be a bigger event and for the drama to be huge, but in the end, this is what it became and I like it better for what it is.

Thank you for reading.


	10. An Ache in Two Hearts

**Chapter 10** : An Ache in Two Hearts

Cecilia made bistro roast chicken, pommes frites with chives, and planned to serve a bottle of red wine. She made fudgy expresso soufflé with raspberry sauce for dessert, but decided to keep it a surprise.

It had taken her a while to come up with what she'd make for dinner. She hadn't wanted to make anything too gourmet because that had spelled out romance and she hadn't been aiming for it. At least, when she'd asked him to dinner she wasn't.

Actually, she'd had more and more regrets about having invited him over for dinner. She'd screwed up royally by taking him to the christening and the way things had ended yesterday had reminded her of Silas warning her against falling in love with him. She hadn't. She wasn't, but she was being obvious about there being a change between them.

Cecilia had no idea why she'd spent so much time picking out a dress. Had she mentioned she bought a dress? She had. It'd been a beautiful, cobalt blue sheath dress that she'd found while shopping for a gift for Aaron. She'd changed out of it several times, trying out many other dresses that she'd found hanging in her closet, but she'd return to it because none of the others went well with the heels she'd purchased two months ago.

She'd woken up that morning feeling a mixture of anxiety, regret, and excitement. She'd reprimanded herself numerous times on her giddiness. It hadn't been appropriate considering that they had agreed on a purely physical relationship. She'd made the promise not to let her emotions take over because she'd wanted to avoid being honest about herself and her past. Silas had warned her that Roy was ambitious and that he'd use her to his benefit. She had avoided thinking about it. And she'd been anxious because of her excitement. Her mood had changed with quick succession throughout the morning and her mind had been restless.

She'd made a mistake. Maybe it hadn't been a mistake. She shouldn't have done that. Perhaps, she'd done the right thing. Over and over again, all those thoughts had entered and exited her head.

Cecilia was fixing her hair when she heard a knock at her door. At the sound, her heart skipped a beat and she jumped to her feet. She pulled on her heels on her way to the entrance. She mussed with her hair a bit to make it seem natural, letting it fall across her shoulder before unlocking and opening the door to invite Roy inside of her apartment. She took his coat from him and saw that he was still in his uniform. She hung it on one of the hooks on the wall.

"Am I underdressed?" he asked, eyeing her curiously.

"No, I just came home from visiting my father," Cecilia lied. "I didn't have time to throw something else on. So, you'll have to forgive me for being overdressed."

"Visiting your father?"

"Yes. He likes the family to dress up."

"Oh. You have siblings?"

"No. It was just my father and I."

"I see." He moved further inside the house. "It smells great in here."

"I made bistro roast chicken," said Cecilia. "I hope that's fine with you."

"Sounds amazing."

"You can sit down at the table. I'll be right back."

"Where are you going?"

"To wash my face, I've been wearing this makeup for hours," she said, practically rushing into her bathroom. She scrubbed her face clean even though she had worked hard to achieve a natural look for the evening—not too much and not too little.

She took out her earrings and kicked off her heels before going out to serve dinner.

"Sorry for taking so long," she apologized, walking past the table and into the kitchen. She plated their food as neatly as possible, the bistro roasted chicken on one side and the pommes fries with chives on the other. She set out two Bordeaux glasses. "I hope you don't mind red wine."

"Here, let me do that." Roy left his seat to pull back her chair for her to sit. Once she was seated, he took the wine bottle from the counter. He uncorked it with a corkscrew and poured red wine into each of their glasses. He looked at her. "The food looks great, Cecilia."

"I hope it tastes as good as it looks," said Cecilia, watching him take his seat across her.

Roy cut a piece of the chicken and ate it, quick to compliment her. "This is delicious. I didn't think you cooked decently."

"I didn't think you thought about whether I did or not."

"I didn't mean that as an insult."

"I didn't take it as one. I get the reaction often," she told him. "I cooked before I decided to write."

"Why did you give it up?"

"I only wanted to work for a single restaurant, but it was burned down," she divulged. "I came into journalism shortly after."

"Were you interested in it when you switched to it?" asked Roy.

"No," she said. "My father sort of harassed me into it." She started to cut into her chicken, the anxious energy made her appetite decrease. "Did you always know you wanted to be a part of the military?"

"No," he admitted, drinking from his wine. "That came after I learned alchemy. The war was…"

Cecilia understood what he meant without him needing to explain. She took a sip of her wine, savoring the taste on her tongue. "You did it for the people?"

"If you think you might make a difference, you take the opportunity to try it," said Roy. "I did. It wasn't everything I imagined it would be."

"But the good intent was there," she said. "I think it counts for something."

"That's amazing coming from you."

"How much do I need to apologize until you accept it?"

Roy smirked.

"That doesn't answer the question."

"What do you think?"

Cecilia turned her face away.

The evening continued with quiet conversation and a second bottle of wine. This had probably been the longest that they had talked since they met and it'd been surprisingly easy to speak with him, even about the things that she'd never thought she'd tell him.

Once dinner was done and the dishes were washed, Cecilia and Roy moved their two-person dinner party to her living room while the radio played soft, instrumental music. They stood facing each other after having pushed the furniture apart to leave the large square rug underneath exposed because she had made the mistake in admitting she had no talent for dancing.

She hadn't danced since she was a child barely learning the steps to a waltz with the aid of a long-necked tyrant and the sound of her mother's ringing laughter that'd echoed in the high-ceiling room. Her teacher had been fired after her mother's death and Cecilia had been forced to learn to defend herself instead.

Cecilia didn't think anyone would try to teach her to dance again. She didn't think she'd need to know how.

It truly amused her.

"You have to stop laughing," said Roy, clasping her right hand in his left and raised it up to his shoulder's height. She withheld her laughter, though her struggle to do so was obvious, as he reached around to put his right hand on her shoulder blade. "Now, put your other hand on my shoulder."

Cecilia did.

"Now, keep your back straight and upright," he said, doing it himself. "I lead and you follow."

"Okay," she said with a nod.

Cecilia stared at their feet as he started to count, signifying each step— _one-two-three_ —and his deep voice caused her stomach to flip anxiously.

She was wobbly in his arms, but he led her in the slow waltz and smiled at her, complimented her, when it appeared she was picking up the steps well enough without his need to correct her. His gorgeous smile made her lose her concentration and she started to mess up to the point he ended up crushing her foot under his shoe.

She yelped, separating from him quickly. "I told you to take your shoes off!"

Roy burst out laughing.

"Stop laughing! You said it'd be magical! You just stepped on my foot!" she complained, hopping to the sofa. She sank down into a seat and rubbed her reddened foot.

Roy crouched down to remove his boots before dropping into the space beside her. He patted his lap as she tended to her aching foot. "Let's see your foot."

Cecilia put her food on his lap, wincing when he touched it with his cold hand. "Ow ow ow ow ow."

"You'll live," he said after a brief inspection. He carefully clasped a hand over the top of her foot and rubbed her gently. She winced and he slowed. He gestured her to him, reaching out to take her by the arm. "Come here."

She slid closer to him and he wrapped his arm around her shoulders. She wasn't on his lap, but her legs were. She nuzzled against him, resting her head against his shoulder.

"And now you know I wasn't lying when I said I was a terrible dancer."

"It's nothing a few good lessons won't remedy," he said, holding her close.

She giggled. "I wouldn't do well."

"You don't know that unless you try."

"Well, there's no reason for me to learn to dance, is there?"

"Any lady of status should know how to dance."

"Yeah, well, I'm not, so it'd be a useless skill."

"Sure you're not."

She looked up at him quizzically. "How would you know I was a lady of status?"

Roy glimpsed at her. "It's the way you carry yourself—your walk and your mannerisms. Your manner of speaking may be crude, but when you are not so hellbent on asshole behavior, you have an elegant way of saying things. It's very polite. You also mentioned something about your family being rich and then seeing you in this dress having returned from dinner with your father were good indicators."

"That is quite observant of you," she said, wearing a poker face, "but I was teasing in the library."

"Yes, but as a freelance journalist, your income isn't regular enough to maintain your lifestyle in an apartment building like this, not to mention you buy prime ingredients for your food and I've seen your wine cabinet, you wear costly perfume, the thread count on your bedsheets is expensive, and your wardrobe is up to date with latest trends."

"Now, that is excessive," she said, masking her astonishment with a coy smile. "Did you…like…have me investigated?" That terrified her and unconsciously, she prepared to break his nose if the situation turned in the direction she feared. "That is so unattractive."

"Do you take me for some kind of creep?"

"I might start."

"I pay attention," he stated, sounding annoyed. "There was an apartment for lease last week and I asked after it when I ran into your landlord."

"You ran into him? Really? After all that you said, I can just put in a complaint to your superior that you're stalking a civilian."

"I'm not a stalker."

"Of course," she said, scooting away from him. "You're only aware of how much my rent is, my preference for prime ingredients, my expensive wine collecting hobby, the brand of my perfume, my bedsheets thread count, and that I'm keeping up with fashion trends. Doesn't sound the least bit creepy, Mustang, not at all."

"Then why'd you move to the other side of the couch?"

Cecilia hadn't noticed she'd gotten so far until he pointed it out. "Just promise me you're not a serial killer," she said, watching a vein pop up in his forehead. "Wait, wait! I'm gonna remind you that I might be able to kick any old guy to the curb, but you've got military training and alchemy on your side. I also don't make a good dead person. You won't gain anything!"

"I'm not a serial killer!"

"You sure?"

"How the hell am I supposed to learn anything about you if I don't pay attention?" he snapped. "You don't talk about yourself and when you do, I don't know if you're telling the truth or lying to me!"

She relaxed. "Is that what this is about?"

"You don't talk about yourself."

"You don't either."

That was the agreement and though she knew and understood this, her heart fluttered in her chest. She tried to blame the wine for making her feel strange, but she had a higher tolerance than that.

She wondered if he was aware of his words.

"If you asked me something, you'd have no doubts that I'm telling you the truth," he told her. "You're the opposite. I have doubts. I can't figure you out."

"I'm not a puzzle for you to decipher," she remarked, growing upset. "If you want to know who I am, fine. I'm Cecilia Warren. I'm twenty-three years old. I'm a freelance journalist. My mother is dead. My father is a businessman—a wealthy one. My grandfather owns a medical practice. My father and grandfather pay for most of my expenses. I never wanted to become a journalist, but my father forced me. In fact, it's his connections that even got me the position even though I've never written professionally prior to getting the job, and if I'm honest, it's his connections that are the reason I even get publish." She expelled a breath. "Is that enough? Or do you want to hear more? I wasn't lying about working at a restaurant. I was an apprentice cook to the chef in a restaurant in South City. It burned down three years ago. The owner refused to rebuild. Oh, and George Perkins"—she noticed the tension in his body set at the mention of the man—"was my boyfriend until I had a run-in with his mistress, Barbara, only to realize I was his mistress, too. He promised to marry me. He bought me a ring and proposed to me. He did it to both of us. And yes, I've been angry about how things ended. He made a fool out of me and I wanted to make a fool out of him by showing you off at the christening, but he didn't care enough to insist on knowing who you were and tried to seduce me. And if you're wondering whether I would sleep with him or not, I wouldn't. I couldn't do that to myself again. I don't want to be somebody's second choice."

"Am I his replacement?"

She scoffed, turning away from Roy. It infuriated her that after all of that, he asked if he was George's replacement. "You're an idiot."

"I'm serious!"

Cecilia stood up. "If you're so desperate to be his replacement, _fine_ , you're it. You're his replacement. I'm so in love with him and I'm fucking you to fill the void that his absence left me. Seriously, how pathetic do you think I am?"

"I didn't call you pathetic," he said, "I was just—"

"It was obviously implied. Why would you ask me if you're his replacement? After I told you all of that?" she interrupted. "I didn't—I didn't sleep with you because I wanted somebody to take his place! He was the furthest thing from my mind!"

She walked away from him trying to force her body to calm down, moving around the furniture and into the kitchen. She was shaking with anger. She gave him her piece of honesty and he came out with a stupid question. The whole point of the conversation was that she wasn't honest. She admitted that she wasn't. She wasn't a hundred percent honest, either, but she gave him the gist of her situation.

Cecilia took the bottle of wine by the neck and poured herself a glass. She wanted to take a bit of the edge off even though she knew drinking any more would be a terrible idea.

She heard Roy leave his seat and walk to her.

"Cecilia, I'm sorry."

She drank from her glass and shook her head. "That's fine. It wouldn't be the first time someone tried to call me out on my bullshit. You're right I am a liar. Half the shit that comes out of my mouth is a lie. It's pathological. Everything I told you now has not been a lie…and you're not George's replacement."

 _You're just a mistake I've committed time and again._

"Your dad is really a businessman?"

"Yes. He lives and works in Central City. Owns hotels and two independent newspapers. Silas Marshall."

"You went all the way to Central City to have breakfast with him?"

"He has business in East City."

"Oh." Roy paused in front of her. "And your grandfather?"

"A surgeon. Also in Central City. Wyatt Marshall."

"So, you do come from a wealthy family?"

She nodded. "You're very observant."

They were quiet. Cecilia offered him more wine. He took it from her hand.

"Let's sit."

Cecilia followed Roy back to the couch to sit. They chose not to sit near each other as they drank in silence.

"Tell me about you," said Cecilia.

"What do you want to know?"

"Tell me about your parents."

"They're dead," he answered. "I was young when they died. I was adopted and raised by my father's sister."

Cecilia opened her mouth, but swallowed down all of her words because it meant proving Silas right and punching a hole in her story.

"It must have been hard to lose both parents young."

"I don't remember them."

"I see."

"You lost your mother as well, didn't you?"

"I was eight when she died."

This was a morbid subject to start a conversation, but at the very least, it got them talking again. She snuck a glance at him and caught him doing the same.

"How is your foot?" he asked, putting his drink down on the coffee table sitting next to his end of the couch.

Cecilia lifted her foot onto the couch. It hurt if she pressed down on it, but it wasn't red anymore. "No."

He slid closer to her and reached down to touch her foot. "Are you sure?"

"Yes."

She drank from her wineglass and asked him to set it down on the coffee table for her. He did and turned back to her, his hand was still atop her foot, but he was distracted by his own thoughts. She felt odd.

"Mustang?"

"Hmm?"

Cecilia scooted closer to him as he turned towards her. She lifted her face, touching his cheek, and drew him closer. Roy reached over to wrap his arm around her shoulders, squeezing her tight. He anticipated the kiss and leaned forward to meet hers. She kissed him softly and moved her lips slowly against his. Her chest tightened. Her heart felt that if it pounded any harder it would burst.

He raised his hand from her shoulder and set it behind her neck, holding her delicately. And he kissed her as if it were the last opportunity he would ever have to do so, but it wasn't rushed and it wasn't sexual. It made her nervous.

Roy moved back, leaving her breathless. He kissed her briefly.

She opened her eyes, his gaze on her lips flickering up to engage her.

Roy smiled. "Well, that was… _different_."

Cecilia was horrified by the realization of what she allowed herself to do. She jerked away from him. "I'm going to get another bottle of wine."

She went into her kitchen and pulled another bottle of red wine from her cabinet. She needed to recover from that slip. She got too comfortable—no, they both had. The wine that they had spent the majority of the evening enjoying was the culprit of their lowered defenses and poor judgment. They didn't know what they were doing.

She positioned the corkscrew, struggling with it for several minutes until she managed to set it in properly and get it out.

All she wanted was to sit with him on the couch and let him hold her.

She was doing it again.

She couldn't do it again. Not after all those times.

As she pulled the cork out, she breathed in deeply. She could take control of the situation again.

Cecilia walked towards her bedroom, stopping in front of the hallway instead. She managed to catch Roy's attention. She held the bottle by the neck in one hand and two wineglasses in the other.

"That kiss made me horny, so why don't we move things to the bedroom," Cecilia suggested.

Roy leaned forward in his seat, reluctant, but he rose. He made a beeline to her, snatching the bottle from her hand and guzzled down half of the red wine before setting it down sloppily atop the nearest flat surface.

He wrapped his arm around her waist and pulled her to him harshly. She dropped the wineglasses and heard them smash into pieces; shards of glass rebounded and hit her legs. He kissed her hard with a strange intensity.

He guided her into her bedroom and towards the edge of her bed. Cecilia tugged at his clothes, hating the disconcerting energy coursing between them. Roy unzipped her dress and practically ripped it from her body. He turned her towards the bed and pushed her down onto it, one hand fisting in her hair (with her approval) as she gasped, closing her eyes to keep herself from crying, and with the other, he undid his pants, pushing her legs apart with his knee. He thrust into her without preparing her.

She clenched her jaw to keep herself from crying out, but it didn't stop her from feeling the pain.

Damnit.

She clutched the sheets as she adjusted to his penetrating girth unable to keep the pained moans from leaving her mouth. She promised herself that she wouldn't cry. Each of his thrusts made her groan, her voice falling in a steady beat with the sound of slapping skin. His hips hit her ass hard and his cock filled her, but it wasn't pleasurable. She listened to his grunts and moans, comparing them to his brutal movements. He felt cold.

This was what she wanted.

It needed to be sex. Purely physical. It was about being selfish and using each other's bodies to pleasure themselves. That was the only thing that they had consented to, but if she was honest, it was never so cold. Even the most emotionless sex wasn't like this. This was an artic.

Cecilia proposed the arrangement because she enjoyed sex with Roy. Also, because she had faith that she would abide by the expiration date that she'd given it. They were past due. They were paying interest now for it being overdue.

Roy took from her until he had taken enough and she shoved him back into bed, climbing over him. She took his cock inside of her, though she was throbbing from the pain, and rode him as she rubbed her clit. She kept him pinned on the bed as she used him to reach an orgasm.

The following morning, Cecilia woke up aching all over.

They battled for dominance until they had exhausted themselves—pushing and pulling, bruising and hurting each other. Their frustrations had taken over halfway into the night and they had consented to rougher play that had simply been an excuse to destroy what their passion for one another had once cultivated.

Roy sat at the edge of her bed, his back to her. Long, red lined marred his flesh in the places that she had dug her hands once the pain had grown pleasurable and too unbearable for her. He had bite marks on his shoulder turning into bruises and red lines on his wrists from the fasteners that she used to tie him to the metal headboard to keep him from touching her.

"I'm going to make coffee," announced Cecilia, her voice hoarse. She left the bed and pulled on a silk robe as he watched. She caught sight of her body as she walked in front of the mirror on her way out. She was covered in bite marks and small contusions. Her legs were wobbly and felt too weak to carry her body, but she pushed forward, leaving the artic desert that her room had become.

Cecilia's hands were shaking as she reached for the kettle, there was bruising on her wrists from Roy's hold. She felt strange. She felt like she had experienced this feeling before, as if she had been standing in the same exact spot reliving it again as the cold and familiar emotion invaded her, crawling under her skin like millions of ants.

Stop shaking! Stop shaking! Stop it—

Roy appeared beside her and took the kettle from her hands. "I'll make the coffee," he said, drawing her eyes to his face. He didn't look like he slept a wink and his neck was covered in marks. "Have a seat."

Cecilia took a seat at her small kitchen table, her feet were as heavy as lead. That awful feeling that bubbled inside of her worsened.

She started to cry as Roy set the kettle on the stove and ground the coffee beans. The tears rolled freely from her eyes, meeting at her chin and dripping to her lap, and she couldn't stop them. They mortified her. She didn't receive a warning for them, so it didn't make sense to her that she was crying. She was used to tears coming with a warning. These were rebelling.

The sweet aroma of coffee filled her apartment.

Roy placed a mug on the table next to her arm. He made only one mug.

He knelt down in front of her, taking her hands into his, and stared into her crying face with a pitying look. Perhaps, it wasn't pity. Maybe he could tell that the same penetrating cold that had taken over his body had seized hers as well, leaving them hurt and aching together.

She understood better than ever that she had made a mistake. She knew what needed to be done as she crushed his hands in hers, letting out a sob. "This needs to stop."

With a solemn nod, he repeated, "This needs to stop."

Roy returned to her room to dress and gathered his coat from the rack before leaving.

Cecilia covered her face with both of her hands, her entire body trembling as sadness washed over. Last night's events flashed into her head and she shrunk in her seat.

That wasn't passion. Not anymore. They were just hurting each other and it had to end. It was over. They were done. She would move on with her life and he would with his. No more worrying about the other.

So…she didn't understand why she couldn't stop crying.

* * *

 **xl** : Why you do this? That said, some truths came out this chapter. The question is...how much was the truth? Dun, dun, dun.

Fasten your seat belts, shit is going to get a little crazy from here on out. O:

Thank you always **Nameless I am** , **Lunar678** , and **Kimono Kay** for your reviews!

Thank you for reading and reviewing.


	11. The Connection

**Chapter 11** : The Connection

Cecilia woke up half past five. She moved sleepily from her bedroom to the bathroom and from there to the kitchen for coffee using the hallway light to find her way around the apartment. She stood with her back against the counter and a mug in her hand, staring at the dinner table absently. She didn't know how much brain activity she expected to have that morning, but it was minimal. She barely gave herself the time to think.

She left for work twenty minutes before six.

The newspaper office for the Sunspace Tribute was located at a short walking distance from her apartment complex in a narrow, one-way street. It was a stout, two-story building with most of the reporter's desks at ground level separated into cubicles and the editor's offices residing in the upper level.

Cecilia entered the building to find it bustling as reporters hurried to meet their deadlines for tomorrow's print. She reached her desk on the right side of the room, greeted several on her way as they welcomed her back to the office.

Petunia approached her, hugging her. "Thank you for the gift."

She could smell the perfume on her. "I'm glad you like it."

"Well, I've got to get to work. See you for lunch?"

"You got it."

Petunia smiled sweetly, excusing herself to report to her secretarial duties.

Cecilia had spent the past month working out of her house, occasionally walking into the office whenever she needed to or was called in, but seeing her in the lively office environment was rare for everyone.

She was tugging off her jacket when she saw Rayne Vega, Melrick's secretary, halt beside her. "It's nice to have you back in the office, Miss Warren," she started with a sweet smile. She wore a fine brown suit and her chestnut-colored hair combed back into a neat ponytail. "Mr. Walker wants to talk to you about the draft you sent in. He's in his office."

"I'll be there in a minute."

Rayne walked back upstairs to continue answering Melrick's calls. Cecilia followed her after draping her coat over the back of her chair. It was quieter in the editors' offices with only the occasional ring of a telephone and the soft sound of a secretary answering.

Cecilia walked up to Melrick's door and knocked. He beckoned her inside immediately. She entered quietly, afraid to disturb the others, and secured the entrance shut.

"You spoke to Mr. Marshall, haven't you?" asked Melrick.

"Two days ago, yeah," she answered. "Did he say something?"

"I've only wanted to contact him as he requested," he said, looking at her after he picked up the draft she sent through the mail to him a few days ago. "You did run this past him, right?"

"Yes, he said he informed you about giving me the okay."

Melrick nodded, holding up a page of the printed copy. She felt anxiety puddle in the pit of her stomach, tightening it into knots, as she stood there anticipating the worst. It wouldn't be the first time she had a story scraped, but the feeling was all the same. She invested enough for her to have developed a connection to the work that hearing it wasn't up to par would disappoint her, though it would ultimately prompt her to find something better.

"It's very well written," said Melrick, "but that's to be expected. You've improved since the first story you submitted. You obviously have a passion for the subject. It reads well. My problem with it is that…I don't quite understand what you are trying to accomplish with writing this piece."

He lifted his eyes to her, setting her story back onto his messy desk. She was surprised he could work with all the paper in front of him. She suspected that at least half of the piles of paper at his sides were drafts in need of his approval.

"What was done in Ishval was an injustice," Cecilia began.

"We let you run a slander campaign that nearly got us shut down permanently because you started calling alchemists dogs," he reminded, interrupting her. "This isn't the time to get redundant over something that people are trying to forget."

"That's the problem," Cecilia continued. "People _are_ forgetting. Ishval wasn't the first place that suffered. The military has a history of triggering similar massacres since it was founded."

"And that's irrelevant. Most countries are founded in the same—"

"I'm not bringing up the history for that reason. I'm trying to bring attention to the fact that it is somehow connected," Cecilia interjected, sparking interest in her superior. "I haven't found the actual connection, but every bloody event that helped shape this country has been similar." Even she couldn't find the words for it. She couldn't believe it at first, thought she might have started imagining things or that she was trying to see something there that didn't exist, but she later convinced herself that there was more. It wasn't just déjà vu. There had to be more. She just couldn't place it. "Everything is connected somehow, but there are details missing. I'm still working on that."

Melrick sighed. "You find that missing piece and I'll print it, but see that you're right about this because we might be onto something much bigger."

Cecilia nodded. "I'll continue researching in the library." She headed for the door. "Please, excuse me."

"Wait."

She halted. "Yes?"

"What secretary are you working with?"

"Petunia," she answered.

"Okay, I'm printing this under Sarah Cyn, got it?" Melrick wrote Sarah's name on the front page of her printed draft. "Go get to work."

Cecilia exited his office, giddy with excitement. She practically ran back to her cubicle to start making plans to do more research. She was certain she had read everything she possibly could, but hoped she might have overlooked something. She considered rereading everything to make certain she hadn't missed something. She'd have to ask Silas to help her get into one of Central City's libraries to dig around some more.

Halfway through her workday, she received a call from Barbara inviting her out for a drink that evening. She made plans to meet her after work.

Before leaving the office late that afternoon, Cecilia completed and submitted her column for tomorrow's newspaper. Apart from the occasional serious story, Cecilia wrote a daily column targeted at homemakers. It was the only piece of writing accredited to her. Every other story she submitted was printed under the name of one of the many secretaries in the office because that was the arrangement she had with the newspaper's owner. Silas had insisted on it, though he had wanted her to write a column about home remedies that she had refused.

Some of the higher risks stories printed by the other reporters worked in a similar manner, which is where the idea had emerged, but the difference between that and what she had been doing was that the secretaries whose names were used were deceased. Sarah Cyn was one of the deceased secretaries on their writer's list.

Cecilia met up with Barbara in front of a mutual acquaintance's bar as scheduled. They embraced while exchanging greetings.

"You look bad," Barbara said upon pulling away and offering her a scathing onceover. "I've seen you look better—wait, don't tell me, you're in between. Yes, that's it! You're in between! Did you go too far with Roy Mustang?"

That hit a nerve.

Cecilia snorted. "No. I'm not stupid. I broke it off with him like a week ago."

"Well, let's find you a new one." Barbara took her by the arm and led her through the entrance. "It's hunting season."

"Now you're just being embarrassing."

Barbara laughed, dragging her to the nearest empty table. They sat across one another. Barbara beckoned on of the server's and ordered a pitcher of beer to get them started.

"You're good with that, right?" asked Barbara.

"Yeah, that's fine," said Cecilia, removing her coat.

"So, tell me about this Mustang fellow."

"I'd rather not talk about it."

"Was he seriously that bad?" asked Barbara, leaning back in her seat with a sigh. "Come on, I thought you'd found herself a good one to keep you busy for a bit."

"Not like that."

"Like what?" Barbara stared at her intently when her eyes brightened. "Wait a minute! Did you actually like him? I was joking when I asked if you went too far earlier— _shit_ , I'm sorry, Cee, that's fucking awful. I should have ordered you something stronger than beer. Here, I can order you some vodka."

"Don't be stupid," Cecilia dismissed, stopping her from calling the server again. "Romance is the last thing on my mind. We're young, Barbara, we should be enjoying ourselves, not worrying about whether or not we're going to meet the man of our dreams. At the end of the day, they don't exist. The ideal man and woman are just figments of our imaginations. This is how people are sold on shitty holidays like St. Valentine's Day. They exist to boost chocolate and flower sales, not to mention jewelry sales. How many idiots are out there buying women earrings? How many women are going to stay with these idiots longer than three months after? I need to know."

The server appeared to drop off their pitcher and a pair of tall glasses. Barbara took them and poured them beer, staring at Cecilia dreamily.

"You really liked this man, didn't you?"

"I didn't! It was a stupid fling! He's not even my type! He's so obnoxious!"

"Have a drink. It might take the edge off."

Cecilia drank it down like it was water. "I didn't like him. I'm glad he's gone and that I don't have to look at his stupid face anymore."

"Even though you liked his stupid, handsome face."

"I didn't!"

"Cecilia," said Barbara pointedly. "When was the last time you were with a man and thought that maybe, just maybe you want to try something other than sleep with him. I'm sure going to Aaron's christening was fun. It was like you were on a real date, wasn't it?"

"Never! And why are you suddenly so supportive? I thought you wanted this to end badly?"

"I was drunk." Barbara brushed it off. "I understand you're being stubborn, but seriously, Cecilia, if you want someone you have to go for it."

"But I don't want him; I sweat to you that I don't. I'm relieved that I don't have to go home to my apartment and expect to see him at my door." Although, seeing him waiting for her to arrive had a way of making her heart skip a beat. She never noticed any of that until they called it quits. "You're wasting your time, Barbara. I'm grateful for the concern, but seriously, there wasn't anything there. It ended. That's that." She finished off her drink, standing up. "I have to get back home and finish my article."

"No, wait, Cee," said Barbara, rising from her seat. "Look, I'm sorry, we won't talk about it."

Cecilia pulled out money from her wallet and set it on the table. "No, it's unrelated. I just realized that I have too much work to do, I'm sorry," she said quickly. "Drinks are on me, okay. Don't let me spoil your fun. You hunt away."

"Cecilia!"

Cecilia couldn't have gotten away from her fast enough, but she convinced herself as she waited to catch the evening bus home that she had a bulk of unfinished work that needed sifting through. She didn't like feeling vulnerable because of a stupid fling. She tried not to think about Roy since they did the right thing in ending things before they became more complicated. She didn't want to revisiting things.

Doing so, reminded her of the last night they spent together and it filled her with shame. She prepared dinner, she dressed up, she waited nervously for him to come, pacing back and forth everywhere until she was sure that she had driven herself nuts, and then she tried to play it cool. That scenario was full of possibility. She hated having taken a step forward without realizing it. She knew her boundaries. She knew how far was too far, but for some reason, she overlooked them for Roy.

She didn't want to be in that position again. She didn't want to feel how easy it was to fall in love, not when she least expected it, not when she didn't want it.

She had been there before—falling in love so quickly it had felt like free falling without the ground in sight. It had been easy…until the floor rushed up to meet her as fast as the emotion would take root in her very soul and she'd be crushed.

She swore it wouldn't happen again.

She was happy it hadn't.

* * *

 **xl** : Someone stop that woman!

I'm dreading the next couple of chapters and readers' reactions to them. So far, I've built up a nice following, so I hope everything stays all nice and dandy and entertaining for you lot.

I also want to say that the denial stage ends soon, but Cecilia and Roy are stubborn...very frustrating too. Love each other already!

Many thanks to **Nameless I am** and **Kimono Kay** for your lovely, encouraging words.

Also, I've posted a short preview for the next chapter on my livejournal, link through my profile.

Thank you everyone for reading and reviewing.


	12. Cecilia Warren

**Chapter 12** : Cecilia Warren

Roy hated the idea of proving Cecilia right and the last thing he wanted was to come out looking like a creep, but that was what happened when he'd approached Riza Hawkeye, his stalwart and trusted bodyguard, and asked her to find all the information she could on Cecilia Warren.

Hawkeye stared at him blankly after the request left his lips and he knew he couldn't get back the words he had spoken. "I don't remember hearing that name in the case."

"I want to confirm something," he excused.

She eyed him suspiciously and it was obvious that she had figured him out, but he would deny it. "Are you sure, coronel?"

He leaned forward on his desk. He felt like a creep. "Yes."

"Very well, sir."

Hawkeye vacated the office to see to retrieving the information and he could do nothing more to put an end to what he just put in motion. He sent Hawkeye to investigate Cecilia and lied about it being pertinent to their current workload. He wasn't the sort to mix personal and professional, at least not in this manner. He never experienced the sort of difficulty he had with Cecilia. That woman was an iron tomb of secrets, her exterior covered in millions of inter-connected lies that fell from her lips with the easiness of a breath.

Women he dated—not that he was ever dating Cecilia—previously were open. They liked to talk about themselves to the point that by the time it came to break it off with them, he knew so much about their lives that he didn't know what to do with the information. One could say that Cecilia was a breath of fresh air. That was certainly how he viewed her. She didn't ask too many questions and didn't expect to know anything about him. The same went for him.

They had made that deal. He got to sleep with her when he wanted and vice versa. There wasn't any promise for commitment. She made it clear that she didn't want it. The arrangement they made was incredible. He didn't need to worry about having to relieve his pent-up sexual desires with whatever woman he found, risking that it'd lead to them asking for a relationship or that it wouldn't be enough to satisfy him because Cecilia was everything he needed. She was always willing. She matched his stamina. In fact, there were times that she challenged his stamina.

He denied having developed any feelings towards her, but there were days he couldn't remove her from his mind. Lately, he thought about her and regretted how things ended. He never apologized to her for leaving her in tears and he wanted to do it. He found himself actively seeking her out in her occasional haunts—all the bars within a two-mile radius of her apartment complex. He thought that if he'd run into her it'd be easier to say sorry, but he wasn't fortunate enough to find her. He couldn't bring himself to go to her apartment either. He couldn't face her. He wouldn't know what to say apart from offer an apology. He didn't know where they stood.

Roy had begun feeling odd after they had gone to that kid's christening so she could show off to her ex, which she had apologized for when he had been brought up in conversation. He had been distracted by the idea that that married man had his eyes set on Cecilia though he had been introduced as her cousin. When she had excused herself to the bathroom, he had found it odd to hear George Perkins make up an excuse to follow her inside the house. Irritated by it, Roy had followed them after trying to convince himself not to because they hadn't agreed to be exclusive. He'd agreed to be insulted if he found out that Cecilia slept with the man pretending to be her cousin, but only because she had dragged him along to the party. He had found them in a curious position against the wall. Their bodies had been melded into one and their eyes had held a forlorn intensity towards one another. He had eavesdropped on the conversation and pretended not to when Cecilia had finished kneeing George to find him when she turned the corner of the hallway.

It had annoyed him to think Cecilia had been using him as a replacement. The idea had played in his mind all night long, disrupting his sleep cycle. He hadn't stopped thinking about it the entire time he had debated whether to stay in uniform or change his clothes. He had tried not to think too deeply into the implications a dinner brought on. He had decided to treat it as a casual thing, though he had been full of anxious energy, and after he had seen Cecilia dressed up, he had known that she hadn't been able to separate the romantic ambience that came with the dinner invitation.

He hadn't minded it. They had proven to be more compatible as they had engaged in flirty conversation that had taken them to practice waltzing in her living room. Kissing her on the couch had felt different. He had wanted to kiss her for the rest of the night in the same manner. But it had gone to shit. She had realized that she had no interest in pursuing whatever that chaste kiss had made them feel and she had offered herself willingly—for him to do with as he wanted.

Roy should have left as he had considered, but he had seen her there and had grown frustrated beyond his control. He had ravaged her until she had been trembling and whimpering in pain. He had completely lost it. She had turned the tables on him during the second round. She had tied his wrists to the headboard securely and had sucked him dry, leaving small bite marks around his crotch and thighs. He had regretted treating her in such a cold manner because he had hated the sex they had—passionless.

He blamed his morbid curiosity for having asked Hawkeye to bring back information on her for the rest of his workday. Hawkeye found him on his way home and handed him a blue folder labeled "Cecilia Warren." He had thanked her and taken it home.

Roy dropped his keys off in a bowl on his kitchen counter and took Hawkeye's findings to his couch, unbuttoning his jacket. Cecilia told him a bit about herself. She claimed it to be true. He wanted to prove that it was even if it made him a creep to have gone about it by abusing his own power to investigate a civilian. It sounded silly to admit it, but he wanted to know that he held onto at least a little truth about her.

He wanted to hold onto her. They were all wrong for each other. Their pieces didn't fit right, but they were magnetically drawn to one another. He wanted the physical relationship to continue so that he could have an excuse to drink coffee with her every morning.

Stop being an idiot.

Roy opened the folder and the first thing he found was a registry of her…death certificate. "What the hell?"

He double-checked the name was correct and it was. It said Cecilia Warren. He didn't think to blame Hawkeye for bringing the wrong information because she never made mistakes. Year of death had been dated eleven years ago. He checked the year of birth and calculated that the woman spoken about in the papers had been in her late fifties when she died. He continued to read into the information and discovered two familiar names: Wyatt and Silas Marshall. Cecilia had told him that Silas Marshall was her father and Wyatt her grandfather, which would make the older Cecilia her grandmother.

He even found the old woman's last residence. It was Cecilia's current address and apartment.

"What the hell is this?"

It made absolutely no sense that a civilian like Cecilia would need to use a dead woman's identity. Was she some kind of fugitive? Was that why she was so guarded around him? He threw the papers across the floor in a sudden fit of anger and watched them scatter.

He would get to the bottom of this. He wanted answers and he knew who to go to for them.

According to Cecilia, Silas Marshall was hanging around East City on business.

* * *

 **xl** : Oh my, someone is in trouble...

And 'cause I love y'all, I thought it'd be super rude to leave you hangin' like this. Go on to the next chapter.

Thank you **starrat** and **Kimono Kay** for your reviews. :)


	13. The Elusive Silas Marshall

**Chapter 13** : The Elusive Silas Marshall

Silas Marshall wasn't a difficult man to locate. In fact, he had only needed to ask after him once before someone had informed him of the location where he had last been spotted. He was staying at a cozy bed and breakfast outside of East City, which he hadn't expected given his wealth could easily have him put up in a suite at the best hotel (that he likely owned).

Roy approached him on the pretense of business. He spotted the blond businessman drinking tea while reading that morning's newspaper at a window-side table. He reminded him of Cecilia, though it wasn't because they looked alike (as they didn't, not in the least, actually). He, like her, possessed a similar refinement, though unlike her, he didn't hide it. He was an affluent man and it showed.

"Silas Marshall?" he called, confirming his identity when the man lifted his eyes to his face at the sound of the name. "Good morning, I'm Coronel—"

"Roy Mustang," finished Silas, returning his teacup to the painted saucer on the table. "Why don't we skip the formalities and have you sit? Would you like anything? My treat."

"Ah…no, thank you."

Despite his polite refusal, Silas called over a server and ordered a cup of coffee for Roy. He regretted tracking him down now that he sat across him, but he didn't let it show on his face. He kept up his confident veneer.

Once Roy was brought his coffee, Silas lowered his newspaper, folding it horizontally and setting it off to the side.

"What purpose do you have in seeking me out?" asked Silas, even toned and excessively polite.

"What do you think?"

"I don't," said Silas. "That is why I asked."

He folded his hands over the table and waited in silence.

"I wanted to talk about your mother, Cecilia Warren."

"Marshall," he corrected. "My mother was a Marshall."

Roy tried not to appear annoyed by the response, understanding that Silas was purposely avoiding the subject. He would continue to do so, which meant Roy needed to be straightforward about it.

"Are you aware that there is a young woman going by the name of Cecilia Warren, claiming she is your child as well as living in an apartment belonging to your deceased mother?" asked Roy, expecting to see more of a reaction from Silas, but he didn't even bat an eyelash.

Silas brought his cup of tea to his mouth to drink. "I do think I would have called the military police if I were not aware. I take it you've become acquainted with _my_ Cecilia Warren? I also take it that she dumped you—"

"It was mutual!" he snapped.

The blond male smiled in amusement. "And you thought you could use your access to civilian information to find out everything that she kept from you. That's an abuse of power, coronel."

He got him there. "I know that."

"What is it about her that has you so curious?"

His lack of trust in her led him down the rabbit hole, but it was what he'd read in Hawkeye's report that had kept him from moving on. He wanted to know who this woman he had been drawn to was and why she had no discernable identity. Who was Silas Marshall to her? Why would he cover for Cecilia?

"You ask that as if my answer will help me get what I want from this conversation," said Roy. He would play things out carefully.

Silas shrugged. "It might."

"I figured you had a right to know that someone was using your mother's identity and home as well as claiming to be your daughter," he repeated. If he persisted with this angle, it could get him somewhere.

"Claiming to be?" questioned Silas. "She _is_ my daughter."

"Records don't show you ever had children."

"Records are what you choose to tell."

"Are you saying you've maintained the existence of your daughter from the world on purpose?"

"Not on purpose," Silas clarified, finishing his tea. He raised his hand to beckon the server and gestured to his empty cup as instruction. He fixed his blue eyes on Roy. "You can say that I wasn't aware of her because her mother decided to keep her from me. Do you, perhaps, have a record of every woman I slept with as well?"

"No…I don't."

"It isn't any of your business, but Cecilia's mother hid her existence from me," stated Silas. The server returned to refill his cup of tea with a fresh brew that smelled of honey and lemon. "She registered her with my mother's name. She wanted to make sure I never found her by being obvious about how to locate her. She came into my care after her mother passed. She was eight. Does that answer your doubts?"

"No. It only reaffirmed my suspicions that I won't ever get any real answers from you or her."

"I'm happy to hear that we're finally on the same page."

"There are consequences for harboring a criminal, even for a man like you," Roy warned. That was the only thing that made sense. If Cecilia did something that would require for her to take on another identity and live in secret, she'd also be wary of the military.

"I would prefer it if you did not go there with me, coronel."

"Is that a threat?"

"I do believe you are the only one that came here to threaten," reminded Silas. "I was only expressing my disdain towards being accused unfairly. There is no proof that my daughter has ever been involved in criminal behavior—"

"Your newspaper ran a slander campaign against the military and has published more than a few articles accusing the government of corruption," Roy interjected. "I suspect your daughter was the one responsible for at least one or all of those. Her behavior could be considered treasonous."

Silas' smile didn't waver. "Perhaps, but I doubt that what you are really after is to find her guilty of such petty crimes. I understand that appeal. She's a young, attractive woman with a lot of secrets. It seems I've found your catnip, coronel."

 _Catnip…?_

"You've proven yourself to be too curious," continued Silas. "When you find something you like you want to know everything about it or them. When you find something you want, you're going to stop at nothing to attain it."

"So, you have me all figured out?"

"I just know your kind." Silas took a moment to pour seven spoons of sugar into his tea, stirring it with the spoon sitting across the saucer. "Now, I'm not one to get involved with my daughter's affairs, but do me a favor and steer clear of her. You've already had your chance with her and you've messed it up royally."

"What makes you think I messed it up?" asked Roy, annoyed.

"I'm only responsible for caring for Cecilia's feelings, not yours, but if you'd like to be adopted, I guess I can work things out with Madame Christ—"

"I get it!" Roy interrupted, silencing him. This man had obviously done his own check on him, which shouldn't have surprised him. "For someone that doesn't like getting involved with his daughter's affairs, you sure went out of your way to keep tabs on me."

"You'll have to forgive the intrusion, but I suppose this makes us even," he said apologetically. "I was looking for blackmail material."

"You don't cut corners."

"Dishonesty is a pet peeve."

"That doesn't explain why you insist on lying to me," said Roy, attempting to gauge his reaction. There was nothing to see. Silas didn't react to the accusation, but Roy trusted his hunch. This man was as big a liar as Cecilia was and they were hiding something.

"There is a clear division between withholding the truth and fabricating it. I practice the former." Silas laughed. He took a drink of his tea. "So, are we done threatening me or would you like to stop beating around the bush and just ask me what you really want? Tell me, Coronel Mustang, what is it that you want to know about my girl?"

Roy knew enough. Cecilia Warren was clearly not her real name. The apartment was leased to her deceased grandmother. She may or may not have been lying about working as a freelance journalist, though there was evidence in her apartment that supported she was. Silas Marshall was her father, though she bore no resemblance to him, which meant Wyatt Marshall was her grandfather. Could he be certain that she was twenty-three as she claimed? Could she be older? Younger?

"How old is Cecilia?"

"Twenty-three."

"And George Perkins?"

"What about Perkins?"

"Is he your nephew?"

"No."

"What is he to Cecilia?"

"Are you jealous of George Perkins?"

"I'm not jealous of him," he grumbled. "Answer the question."

"He promised to marry her."

"And you accepted that?"

"What do you think?"

"You wouldn't, would you? Why?"

"Because he was married and that would make him a bigamist?" offered Silas, arching an eyebrow. "Last I checked, that was against the law here."

"Let's say you knew nothing about him. You didn't go out of your way to investigate every detail of his life. Why wouldn't you let him marry your daughter?"

Silas smiled. "Ah, I see, so you do not intend to leave unless I give you something?"

"I want to know why she is using a fake identity."

"Why are you searching for criminality in places where there is none?" asked Silas. "Do you think by learning what her real name is you'll unearth her delinquency? You won't. She doesn't have a record."

"Then you admit that she's using a fake name?"

"Was that not a point that you had already made? Why should I deny your success?"

"Because you didn't care for my feelings."

"That is true, I don't, but that shouldn't keep me from admiring your intelligence, Coronel Mustang," he countered calmly, and Roy knew he was mocking him. "However, you should be more open to intuiting when the right time to stop has arrived. You wouldn't want to find yourself in any danger as a result of your smarts."

"I won't."

"You are so distracted by your own doubt that you never realized that a quick glimpse into my family tree would give you her name, of course, that is only if you know where to look," Silas told him. "I don't keep her a secret, but I do want to protect her. She is my daughter, after all."

"Protect her from what?"

"From men that ask too many questions."

"Did George Perkins ask too many questions?"

Silas took one last drink of his tea. "Perkins was simply not worthy of her."

"How do you measure worth?"

Silas stood up, patting his mouth with the napkin that he removed from his lap. He placed it on the table's surface and adjusted his vest, pulling it down, before reaching for his coat.

Roy practically jumped out of his seat. "Well, what is it?"

Silas slid into his coat and reached into a pocket, leaving a hefty tip for his server. He stepped around the circular table to stand in front of Roy.

"It was nice meeting you, coronel," started Silas, placing his hand on his shoulder. "Excuse me. I should go before my assistant catches me."

"Answer the question!"

"If you become Fuhrer and your obsession for my daughter decreases enough so that it isn't this creepy, you can have all the answers you want."

Roy watched Silas leave the room, through the glass doors, he saw a younger male run up to shout at him about being tardy, but none of that mattered. He said Fuhrer. It could have been a lucky guess, but he did say he was searching for blackmail material. Did he know?

No, he couldn't. He hadn't made it public at all. Hughes and Hawkeye weren't the kind to talk, so it had to be a coincidence.

Yes. That was it. Just a lucky guess.

The following morning, Roy was confused after being called into Lieutenant General Grumman's office. He went to stand a few feet from his grayed commanding officer's desk.

"Sir."

"Oh hello, Mustang," said Grumman.

"Is something wrong?"

"Silas Marshall." Grumman looked at him, away from the paper in his hand. Roy grimaced at the sound of his name. "I see you acquainted yourself with him."

"I had a run-in."

"I hope for your sake that that was all," answered Grumman. "Do yourself a favor and stay out of that man's hair. Oh, the same goes for Oona."

"I'm sorry, sir, I'm not acquainted with an Oona."

"His daughter, Oona Marshall."

"Oh…okay, sir," answered Roy. He couldn't actually believe that he was given a name and he didn't have to dig around for it. "Is there any particular reason for this counsel?"

"Think about it."

Grumman dismissed him.

Roy returned to his office, figuring out the warning long before entering. How would his commanding officer have known that he had a run-in with Silas Marshall if the man himself had not contacted someone within the military to make certain it didn't happen again. The man had connections. Very good ones if he was able to make this happen so quickly.

Hawkeye was returning to the office at the same time as he.

"In the information you gathered concerning Cecilia Warren, what did you find on Silas Marshall?"

"He was an assistant to the Fuhrer."

"He has connections to the military?" he asked, surprised.

She nodded. "He retired fifteen years ago due to an accident. The rest of his military history is restricted."

Roy assumed he quit around the time Cecilia came into his life. His military history being restricted made him wonder if he had served as a spy for Amestris, but on who did he spy on for their country.

"What about his family?"

"His father is a known surgeon in Central City, Wyatt Marshall. He also has a daughter, Oona Marshall. She's one of the doctors in her grandfather's practice. Oh, but it was strange that Miss Marshall didn't show up in an official family registry."

"How did you link the two?" asked Roy.

"I found her through Wyatt's."

Cecilia was no doctor. He caught them in a lie.

"Is she currently there? In Wyatt Marshall's practice?"

"Oona Marshall?"

"Yes."

"I would think, but coronel, what is this about?"

"It's curiosity…for now." If he went to Central City to Wyatt Marshall's practice, would he find the real Oona Marshall? "It might be something more, though, but for now, I can't say much."

Hawkeye's eyes narrowed. "You had better not be getting yourself into any trouble."

"I'm not. I swear."

"Very well."

She didn't believe him at all.

* * *

 **xl** : Dun. Dun. Dun.

Thank you for reading everyone! I hope you've enjoyed this most recent development!


	14. The Tragedy of Oona Marshall

**Chapter 14** : The Tragedy of Oona Marshall

"I had Oswald prepare us lunch for the trip," said Silas, offering her a brown paper bag as he sat in the seat across her. "He packed extra broccoli for you."

"That was nice of him." Cecilia perused the contents of the bag with mild interest. Silas' assistant made healthy, balanced lunches and for that reason alone, she had liked Oswald Parr since she'd first met him. "Have you told gramps that I'm staying over?"

"He's making sure to prepare your favorite meal."

"I guess this won't be a shit trip after all."

"Language, Oona."

"I'm an adult."

"You were raised better than this."

Cecilia folded the paper bag closed and left it on her lap. She sat next to the window, watching people walking around the station outside their train. They were traveling in their own cabin. She had brought a single suitcase that held more of her notes and research than belongings to last her weeklong stay at Wyatt Marshall's home in Central City, or rather, the one thing close to a real home.

It was easy to switch from one identity to the next. She had done it all her life because it was the only thing keeping her safe in Amestris.

"When is the train leaving again?" asked Cecilia.

Silas checked his pocket watch. "Another ten minutes."

The ride to Central City went by surprisingly fast. At the station, they were picked up by another of Silas' employees that dropped her off at Wyatt's practice. Silas had business to take care of, but asked her to tell his father that he dealt with things in East City.

The Marshall Clinic was a three-story building with about forty rooms—included in the number were examination rooms, two surgical rooms, doctors' offices, and guest areas. Although it was a clinic, it had all the necessary equipment for surgery and long-term stay, as such it was primarily a medical center used for emergencies when one wasn't able to reach the hospital.

Cecilia carried her suitcase inside and stood in the reception area basking in the familiarity that overcame her upon her arrival. There were comfortable chairs on one side of the room forming an incomplete square in front of the front desk where a pair of nurses tended to the patients waiting in line to sign in for their appointments or drop-ins. There were a couple of people seated in the waiting area. On the other side, a door that led to the staircase and the elevator entrance sat beside it.

"Oona!"

She startled at the sound of a familiar voice. A woman in a nurse's outfit with her brown hair tied into a high ponytail ran to her carrying a clipboard. She grabbed hold of Cecilia and pulled her into a tight hug before releasing her and slapping her arm with the board.

"OW!"

"What's the problem not visiting in over a year?" the older woman demanded. "You know how much your grandfather misses you!"

"I call him regularly. I even write to him." Cecilia set down her suitcase, but the nurse picked it up. "But how have you been Bella? How's the husband? And the kids?"

"They're great and we can talk more about this in length, but your grandfather needs your help."

"With what?"

"One of our patients worsened a few minutes ago and he's performing emergency surgery."

"No!" she objected. "You can't mean—"

Isabella nodded firmly. "Your grandfather asked me to fetch you as soon as you came in."

"But I just got here!"

Isabella started to shove her towards the elevator. She pressed the button as Cecilia tried to get away. Her grip was shockingly strong and it had to be working for someone like Wyatt, who needed an anchor to function in society.

"You can sleep when you're dead, come on. A life is in need of saving!"

"I don't have a license to practice!"

"Maybe you should have finished getting that instead of running off to chase a man!"

The elevator's doors _swished_ open and Cecilia was shoved inside.

"That wasn't what happen—?"

"Third floor, operation room two."

Cecilia realized that Isabella wasn't going to join her after she pressed the button for the third floor. "Where are you going?"

"I have people to see! I'll be leaving your suitcase in the breakroom. Get the keys from someone else."

The elevator door slid shut before she could say anything. She impatiently waited for them to reopen as she made her ascent to the third floor. She didn't like being surprised like this.

As she stepped out of the elevator and into the hallway, Cecilia dug around her pockets to find a hair tie that she used to pull her hair up into a low ponytail, away from her face. She followed the familiar brightly lit corridor to Operation Room Two at the end of it. She heard the shuffling of feet and the sound of voices emanating from inside.

Cecilia walked into the room quietly. Wyatt Marshall did not look up from the surgery that he was in the middle of performing. The only acknowledgement he offered her was in directing one of his assistants to help prep her. She was taken into the smaller adjacent room where she was aided into a surgical gown as she washed her hands and was briefed on the procedure her. She was given a mask and her hands were gloved before she reentered the room to stand across the surgical table from Wyatt.

She had to admit, it was a long time since she'd last seen the inside of a person. With that final morbid thought, she assisted Wyatt as expected of a surgeon-in-training for the duration of the surgery. He specifically instructed her through the whole process. He left her to do the stitching, reminding her that a skilled doctor never forgot what they were previously taught and that practice only made them better at it.

Once they were inside the breakroom drinking coffee, Wyatt smiled at her gratefully. The two had hurried down for their dose of caffeine so fast that they hadn't bothered to change out of their surgical clothing.

"Welcome home."

"Thanks, but I'd appreciate a better warning before being hurled into surgery. I'm rusty."

"You should have finished your license instead of running after some man," he remarked.

"Stop listening to Bella! She doesn't know what she's saying!"

He laughed.

They were alone in a room that smelled of cheap coffee beans and freshly baked bread. There was a set of couches and comfortable chairs huddled up in one corner of the room and a cot for quick naps. The floors were tiled, a gray-blue and white to match the cream-colored walls and ceiling.

Cecilia relaxed in the couch. It was the most comfortable she'd been since she was at her apartment.

Wyatt was an old man with a full head of gray hair trimmed short and a face full of wrinkles. "Tell me about East City."

"It was comfortable."

"Tell me about Roy Mustang."

Cecilia glared at him. "Why is it that you and _dad_ seem so involved in my life?"

"We have warned you sufficiently, young lady, and have never questioned your awful taste in men," said Wyatt. "We let you run around with every cute bartender you encountered. You had your choice in dating any man you wanted under the sun, except military men."

"It was temporary. It's over even. I stopped seeing him long before I even came here, so why don't you do me a favor and ask whatever stalkers you have keeping you informed of my every move that I can protect myself."

"We've kept you hidden for fifteen years and we'd like to continue doing so, but will not be able to if you become too involved with a ranked officer."

"I told you it was over," she said, "and if I'm going to be lectured by you the entire time that I'm over here, I'm going to go stay at a hotel."

"I won't bring it up again," he decided, raising his arms in resignation. "Come home."

The breakroom door opened and Isabella peeked inside. "Oona, there's a man out in the reception room asking for you."

Cecilia looked at Wyatt and he shrugged.

"Go see what he wants."

"But nobody calls for me," said Cecilia, feeling suspicious about it.

"Don't be silly," said Isabella. "Your old patients come by every so often to see if you're around."

"Is he an old patient?"

Isabella shrugged. "I don't know. He doesn't seem familiar."

"Then?"

"Well you can't expect me to remember every face I see walk in and out of this place!"

Cecilia walked out of the door to see who came asking for her. Isabella chased her down after slamming the door shut behind her. She caught up with her as she was exiting into the reception room.

"You can't go out wearing that! It's covered in blood. Give me that." Isabella untied the gown and pulled it off her. "The mask too."

"Where is this man?" asked Cecilia, handing it to her.

Isabella bundled everything together. "There, behind you."

She turned towards the reception to see Roy Mustang staring back at her. She almost scrambled back inside into the safety of the hallway, but he called out to her.

"Oona Marshall."

And he smirked as if victorious.

"You really are a creep," she determined.

He walked up to her and lowered his voice. "So, what is your real name? Cecilia Warren or Oona Marshall? Perhaps, there's a third name you've failed to mention," he told her, "and what happened to journalism? Did you suddenly develop a taste for medicine?"

"Seeing as you have a lot of free time on your hands, why don't I take you to lunch?" asked Cecilia.

"That sounds great."

Cecilia walked up to the receptionist and asked her to inform Isabella and Wyatt that she decided to have lunch outside with an acquaintance. As she walked out of the clinic with Roy in tow, she tried to keep her personal feelings out of it, but she was both angry, confused, and giddy all at once. Angry because this was definitely going too far and his earlier assertion of not having her investigated—clearly that had changed since their last conversation as he wouldn't be here otherwise—and confusion filled her as she didn't understand what drove him to come to Central City. Was he simply asking questions because he was curious? Or was an ulterior motive involved? Even if it wasn't the latter, she'd have to be careful about what she said.

Her own feelings betrayed her by making her feel the spark of excitement upon seeing Roy's face. However, upon remembering their last encounter, all sense of exhilaration died. There was no use in getting giddy over seeing him. They were only going to hurt each other. That was what had been established when she had been left crying in her apartment.

"So I'm an acquaintance now?" asked Roy.

"I don't remember us being friends."

He made a sound in amusement.

Cecilia led Roy to a nearby restaurant, only a block away from the clinic. They walked in silence. She anticipated he knew more than he should have ever learned about her. It meant that something would have to be done about him if he opened his mouth. She dashed the thought from her mind. It was too morbid.

The restaurant was small and lit with dim orange light. The tables were covered in red cloth with gold trim. It wasn't packed due to it being a weekday, so they were seated as soon as they walked up to the host. They sat across one another and they were offered menus to peruse through the various dishes offered, but Cecilia already knew that she wanted a bottle of wine. She ordered a glass of white wine before the man walked away.

"So, you're a doctor?" asked Roy, not looking up from his menu.

"I'm not a doctor."

"You looked like you were back there."

"I never finished my training. I'm not a doctor. I'm not licensed."

"First a restaurant, then journalism, and now medicine," said Roy. "What is the truth with you?"

"Are you seriously so curious that you would investigate me?"

"You and your father are amazing liars," he replied, "but there are a lot of holes in your story. He's hiding you."

"That's a gross exaggeration," Cecilia dismissed. "Perhaps, this is too hard for you to understand, but my father is an overprotective dolt and I've been suffering the consequences of it for the last fifteen years of my life. How do you think I feel knowing that he hired people to stalk me? Or having to deal with him meddling with my relationships? Not only that, my grandfather receives daily updates from the people _he_ hired to follow me. I'm not being hidden."

"Then why did you introduce yourself as Cecilia Warren when there are records that show that your real name is Oona Marshall. There must be a perfectly good reason as to why you would switch your identities."

"My record is clean." She quieted as the server approached with a deep glass of wine. They ordered food. Once their menus were taken and the server left them, she continued, "You're too skeptical and too determined to find something wrong about the shoddy way my father chose to raise me. You're making mountains out of molehills."

"You forgot to mention your father was in the military when you told me about him and that he was an assistant to the Fuhrer," said Roy. "He also quit fifteen years ago around the time your mother died. And even if you managed to explain all of that it wouldn't tell me why his military records are restricted."

"My father was a military officer that worked under the Fuhrer. He retired because he couldn't keep managing his current lifestyle and his condition. It coincided well with my sudden orphaning as he could focus on being my father." Cecilia took a sip of her wine, tasting it. "I didn't tell you because I was more focused on giving you the now than revealing my entire family history, but if you're interested in that, I can send you a copy of my autobiography once I publish it."

Roy looked annoyed. "No thanks."

Their food arrived during their next lapse of silence and they began to eat surrounded by the chatter of the few other patrons mingling with that of the silverware clinking over the surface of porcelain plates.

"Why are you in East City using the name Cecilia Warren? Are you a military spy?"

"You know that I hate the military too much to join it," she answered. "I wouldn't survive the training."

"You certainly took down George Perkins just fine."

She grasped at her composure for a split second, but he caught sight of the moment it happened and put on an amused smile.

"Do you really feel that inferior to George that you have to bring him up this often?"

"I don't feel inferior to him."

"You should stop acting like you do."

His eyes darkened. "I know you're trying to change the subject."

Conversing with him was exhausting. "Please tell me what you want to hear, so that we can just stop torturing ourselves."

"Just answer the question."

"What am I doing in East City and why Cecilia Warren?" she repeated. "The truth?"

"Yes."

"I went to East City chasing a man," she admitted, gauging his reaction as her face slowly turned red. It was embarrassing to admit after denying it for so long.

"You're kidding."

"You think I would really kid about something like this! People still make fun of me for it!" she remarked in a strong, low voice. "And the name? I did it to make living in the apartment easier."

"Even though the real Cecilia Warren died."

"The apartment was just registered in her name because I couldn't buy one."

"Why not?"

"After I chased after a man to East City, my dad cut me off. I didn't want to be homeless, so I broke into my grandmother's apartment, found the extra key, and started living out of it. I'd only planned to use it until I got a job to sustain myself since my dad was the one that paid the apartment, without knowing I was there."

"Then the newspaper?"

"I haven't gotten there yet."

"Oh…sorry."

"I found a job waiting tables, but I ended up getting tired of climbing in through the window all the time, so I started using the—"

"You live in the fourth floor," he interrupted.

"So you can tell how difficult it was to do it every time I wanted to get in and out."

"How can you say you wouldn't survive military training if you scaled up and down four stories on a regular basis?" he argued.

"There was a ladder and I wouldn't survive," she reaffirmed. "So, after I switched over to the door, I started meeting other people in the building. I lied about being a new tenant and introduced myself as Cecilia Warren. I didn't want the landlord—he was a new landlord, never met the real Cecilia Warren—to eventually put one and two together and rat me out to my dad, too, so I said I had handled everything with my father and that the rent would be paid as it usually was. Of course, that eventually backfired. My dad tends to get angry too fast and makes drastic decisions and then gets over it just as quickly. He caught me, found out I was waiting tables, and forced me into freelance work because he didn't think I should be going around doing menial work, but that was because I refused to return home. So, he let me keep the little life I made away from him if I promised to visit home every month."

"He's certainly easy to please."

"Yes, he is," she replied. "That's the story. Maybe it sounds stupid and jumbled to you, but that's why I'm in East City and claiming to be Cecilia Warren." She set her eating utensils aside and leaned forward on her elbows with a teasing smile on her face. "So, Mustang, how'd it feel to have sex with a dead person?"

Roy choked on his water.

She laughed.

"Not funny."

He dabbed at his clothes to dry the places where water had fallen. "So, you're really a doctor?"

"I don't have my license."

"But you have training?"

"I have training, yes."

"How much before you get your license?"

"A year, give or take two months," she answered.

"Did you come here to get away from East City?"

"I came here to do research at one of the library branches for my article," answered Cecilia. "I'm going back, so don't think dumping you—"

"It was mutual!"

"Yeah, yeah, well, don't worry; you didn't chase me out of East City. You're not that good."

"What do you mean I'm not that good? I've had you begging—"

"Well, a little encouragement doesn't hurt, does it?"

"You little—"

"Excuse me!" she called loud, drawing their server's attention. "Can I get the whole bottle?"

They fell into another silence. She tried to ignore how uncomfortable it made her feel that Roy was glaring at her the entire time she was pretending not to notice that he was doing it. The bottle she ordered was brought and she started to drink at her usual pace.

"I have another question."

She lifted her eyes, holding the glass to her lips. "Hmm?"

"Why is it that when I had a run-in with your father, I heard about it at my HQ?"

She lowered the glass, asking herself if Silas ever mentioned anything about running into Roy. He hadn't and that disconcerted her. "What do you mean?"

"My commanding officer asked me to steer clear of your family."

Silas was going to hear about this. She remained nonchalant about it. "I'm sorry. That was my father exaggerating. I'll make sure you don't have any more problems on his end. He likes to harass my boyfriends—well, in your case, my sex friend."

"Why? Nobody is worthy of you?"

Cecilia stirred her wine in her hand slowly, watching the gold liquid swirl. "It's what every father protests when it comes to his daughters," she said, though she knew that wasn't the case for them. "We couldn't possibly understand his reasons. We're not parents. We don't have that attachment to another human being. So, who are we to question how he handles the subject of my future spouse?"

She didn't have hope for a future spouse if she were honest. She didn't think it'd ever be safe for her to return to her home—her _real_ home. Laying low in Amestris was keeping her safe, but it was also preventing her from moving on with the life she had before she'd abandoned it. Actually, if she were truly honest, she didn't have any hope or desire of returning home. She was fine where she was moving around with a new name every time she needed it and if she wanted the home, she'd go back to being Oona Marshall and return to Central City to Wyatt's clinic.

"I suppose you're right."

Cecilia smiled at him and saw his features soften.

All the sadness she felt after their mutual separation seemed to have gone away for the duration of their lunch, but once it was done and he picked up the tab, though she insisted she would as she had invited him, their incompatibility came rushing back into her memory. She'd never be a hundred percent honest with him. She'd never allow herself to fall into another relationship that'd end horribly. She couldn't keep falling in love so quickly because love made her do stupid things.

Her sixteenth year had been the worst. The aftermath had permanently barred her from ever taking an interest in military men. The man she'd been with had been a trainee. She'd confided in him her secret and he'd told his commanding officer. It'd taken all of Silas' connections to end the discussion that had resulted as the mounting border aggressions against Amestris had reached a fever pitch. It'd been a disaster. Many people had died.

"Are you returning to the clinic?" asked Roy.

The two stood next to a streetlamp flickering to life along with the others. The sun set slowly in the horizon and doused the surrounding buildings in orange light.

"No," said Cecilia. "If I returned there, my grandfather will probably find an excuse to put me on duty. Illegality aside, I hate working there."

"Let me give you a ride home," he said, and she opened her mouth, but he interrupted, "I'm not taking no for an answer."

"Fine," she stated, "but I have one condition."

"What is it?"

"Stop searching for answers about me in the resources the military made available to you. In short, no more investigating me or my family," she said. "It's creeping me out."

His expression soured.

"I've told you everything about myself," she continued. "Do you still think that I'm a bad person? That I'm switching identities because I'm a criminal?"

"You're the only one that knows that."

"I'm not asking you to trust me in everything, but trust me on this."

He stuffed his hands in his pockets and nodded.

"Let's go."

Roy drove her to the Marshall townhouse, located in a quiet neighborhood with similarly sized, white buildings. Light emanated from the four windows that faced the street, which meant she was being expected. The problem was that she didn't know who was doing the expecting and it unnerved her, either way, her running after a man to East City would come up.

"Thank you for the ride, Mustang," she said, opening the car door. "Another thing, please stop looking for me." She saw surprise dawn on him upon hearing her words. "After last time, that should have been the end of it, but you investigated me. You chased me all the way here to catch me in a lie. I made a mistake. I shouldn't have initiated any sort of relationship with you because I knew it was going to end badly, but I'm stubborn. I thought I could handle it, but I couldn't stop myself from feeling something."

"Feeling…something…?" he questioned slowly. "Wait, are you saying that you—?"

"I like you," she said. "Yes. I like you." There, she told herself, one less burden. "I also want to tell you that I'm not going to act on my feelings. That's why I said that we should break things off. I think you knew that and that's why you agreed."

"That's not why I agreed, Cecilia," he told her. "I was cruel to you…I—"

"Don't." She didn't want him to apologize for his behavior. "I wanted you to be cruel."

"I was—"

"Stop."

The front door of her townhouse slammed open and a shrill voice filled the quiet.

"PRINCESS OONNNA!"

Her expression darkened.

Roy snorted. "Princess?"

"Goodbye, Mustang, nice of you to give me a ride."

Cecilia exited his car and a large woman pulled her into a suffocating embrace before she could put any distance between herself and the vehicle.

"I…can't…breathe…Miss…"

The woman released her, gripping her shoulders. "I couldn't believe it when your grandfather told me that you left to chase Graham to East City!"

"That's not how it happened!"

The woman noticed the car parked in front of the house. "Did you bring him back?"

"No, Miss Matilda, it—"

Matilda thrust her head inside the car and made an appreciative sound. "My, my, he is much handsomer than that good-for-nothing Graham!" she squealed. "Nice to meet you, I'm Matilda Henson, you should come in for tea, I have cookies."

"Roy Mustang, a pleasure to make your acquaintance."

"Miss Matilda, no, he's busy—"

"He doesn't look very busy, right? Tell me you'll come in for tea."

"I just—"

Roy didn't manage to get another word out when Matilda grabbed him by the arm and started to drag him out.

"To the sitting room, children!"

"Miss Matil—"

She shoved Cecilia toward the door and then Roy into her. She would've toppled over if he hadn't caught her.

Matilda went back to shut the car door, but returned to push them into the house before Cecilia had a chance to apologize for her behavior. She sat them down side by side in a white leather couch inside the sitting room. The large woman bounced off to the kitchen to retrieve the tea and cookies.

"I'm so sorry, I really am so sorry," she said, embarrassed.

"Matilda Henson, was it?" he questioned. His eyes took in the room, searching it with curiosity.

The sitting room was a small area with a white couch set, a mantle full of family pictures, wallpaper with microscopic pink flowers, and expensive paintings of obnoxious things on the walls.

"She's my housekeeper."

"So you really did chase a man to East City?" he mused. "What happened?"

"I wasted a trip," she remarked, shuddering at the memory of it all. She'd been dumped immediately because he met someone else. By then, she'd been too proud to return home.

He stood up, drawn to the framed pictures on the mantle. She followed him to them and watched him search all the faces for hers. He picked up a picture of her as a five-year-old girl dressed in a white dress while seated on the windowsill of a large window. She remembered her mother standing next to the photographer asking her to sit still.

"How old were you here?"

"I had just turned five."

Roy returned it to its place before picking up another of her standing between a scruffy man in a lab coat and a woman with golden hair with a smaller, dark-haired girl that Cecilia hugged from the back. Looking at it, at the girl that she held, reminded her not of the specific moment, but of the happiness that she had felt in that moment.

She had never known freedom until she had realized they had attained it. There, in that little town up in the mountains, she had found it. There she had felt safe.

"What about here?" asked Roy, refocusing her mind. "Who are they?"

"Relatives." She smiled. "My aunt and uncle…and my…cousin."

She found it so easy to speak to him and she needed him to be cruel, so that she could get away from him. She wanted to reveal more, but stopped herself. She wanted him to trust her.

"You bear a stronger resemblance to this woman than you do your father."

"She was my mother's sister."

"Was?"

"She passed away."

"I see."

Matilda returned with a tray of tea and cookies, surprising them when she called for them to sit. Matilda poured the tea and joined them for the polite conversation that followed. She fawned all about Cecilia as a child and managed to tell Roy a lot of embarrassing stories from her youth that only made her out be more helplessly boy crazy than she remembered.

Cecilia managed to steer the conversation into ending quicker than it would have gone on for had she not stepped in to make the difference. After another half hour of mortifying tales, Cecilia walked Roy to the door after he had completely charmed her housekeeper. If he'd ask her for a copy to the key to the house, she'd hand him hers.

"I would appreciate it if you didn't throw too much charm around, I don't want my entire staff smitten with you," warned Cecilia.

"Are you jealous that I'm not throwing my charm at you?"

Her face heated up. "Don't be an idiot. As if you could charm me."

"Oh? I specifically recall you admitting you liked me," he teased.

"I was just unburdening myself. And don't think too highly of yourself, you heard Miss Matilda, I fall in love overnight, so I might just have some other man I like tomorrow."

He leaned forward, closer to her, and her heart skipped a beat. "I find women are satisfied having me alone."

"Yeah, well, I'm not. Goodbye, Mustang."

Roy stepped away from her, reading the rejection in her body language, and crossed the threshold to the lit porch. Without turning back, he said, "Goodbye Cecilia."

She shut the door when he was halfway down the stone pathway and felt her knees weaken. She hit the hard ground, her face burning red, and her body trembling. She heard the soft shuffle of Matilda's feet as she walked to stand behind her and felt the woman's large hand warm her upper back. She wanted to bat away the torrent of uncontrollable emotions that she experienced in Roy's presence. Dizziness, short of breath, her heart skipped beats or raced, and she felt inadequate.

"Is he the military man I've heard so much about?" asked Matilda.

No secrets were kept from their loyal housekeeper.

"Yes."

"My little princess, you love him."

"Don't call me that. I'm an adult," she told her, "and I'm not in love with him. I just like him. I like him a lot and I want to be with him. I want to talk to him, but I'm afraid I won't be able to keep myself from telling the truth. I almost told him about Arisha. I would have if you hadn't interrupted when you did." She covered her mouth as her voice grew hoarse with emotion. "I've told him so much already. I can't keep going. He's suspicious enough as it is now. He investigated me. He asked me why I took a different name and I told him half the truth."

"Oona," called Matilda softly, rubbing her back in a soothing manner. "If you love him and he is meant to be yours and if honesty is your way of attaining him, be honest as you are being with me now."

Cecilia sniffled, the tears clouding her eyes. "The last time I was honest with a man I thought I loved, he ended up dead."

"Well, we can't exactly blame ourselves for that. He sought to make a profit of your name. You were young and prone to bad decisions. You cannot be blamed for the folly of an untrustworthy man," said Matilda. "You are older now. You are not committing the same mistakes. You can gauge out the people that are good—"

"Being older has made no difference," she shouted, frustrated. "I'm making all the same mistakes. I haven't gotten wiser. I haven't changed at all. I'm still stuck in the same hole that I dug for myself and committing the same mistakes in an endless loop. It hasn't gotten better since I've left."

Matilda sank down beside her and hugged her as she started to cry.

"I just want you to be happy," said Matilda.

"Thank you."

A long, long time ago, the small girl trying so helplessly to sit in that picture had dreamt of becoming a doctor, falling in love, and having a family. Three years after that, her dreams had been so helplessly crushed in a whirlpool of violence that in the deepest recesses of her memory continued to exist as a reminder of her origins and that someone like her, defiled by the dark rage that possessed her childhood home would only be used by men.

She cursed them after she found freedom. She feared them as her heart swore to betray her brain. She fell in love with them so easily and they fell out of love just as quickly. She ached and remembered the bright eyes above her as she cried; the darkness sinking its claws into her helpless arms introducing its icy existence to her bloodstream.

For a moment, she had returned to the polished floors covered in blood and the high ceiling above her with the crystal chandelier. The howling arctic winds made the windows shudder violently as she had screamed and the voice in her ear had threatened to kill her most precious treasure. The fight had abandoned her.

 _"Tell me your name."_

Cecilia tightened her hold on Matilda as she froze, reliving nightmares in her mind as a clear voice spoke to her, and beneath her breath chanted, "My name is Oona Marshall. I'm twenty-three. I'm studying medicine under my grandfather's tutelage." _Again._ Matilda held her hard, supporting her. "My name is Oona Marshall. I'm twenty-three. I'm studying medicine under my grandfather's tutelage." _Again, Cath._ "My name is Oona Marshall. I'm twenty-three. I'm studying medicine under my grandfather's tutelage."

 _Again_.

 _Again._

 _Again._

 _Again._

She repeated herself until the voice left, stealing away the darkness.

"Are you okay?" Matilda pulled away from her, staring down at her with her round face full of worry. "You're looking pale, you should rest."

Cecilia nodded. "Thank you. I will."

* * *

 **xl** : I'm tired. I'll see you next Friday with a new chapter. (A note on this, chapters will be updated whenever possible on Fridays, since my schedule has turned out to be more demanding than I initially anticipated.) I do hope you enjoyed this one.

Thank you always to **Nameless I am** and **Kimono Kay** for your reviews. Thank you new readers and old who read in silence!


	15. Cath

**Chapter 15** : Cath

There weren't enough photographs of Arisha left in her possession. She carted off with as many memories as she could tear away from the locked boxes and drawers that she had available in her exit route, but her greatest treasure had been clinging to her neck, carried in her shaky, bruised arms. She wouldn't have minded leaving that dark, cold place with nothing but Arisha in her custody because she'd been the only person she couldn't live without.

Cecilia couldn't carry any pictures of Arisha with her, but she appreciated Silas and Wyatt's efforts in displaying them in their homes. She knew they did it for her because she missed Arisha terribly. When Arisha died in the quiet of a summer night with the soft glow of a lantern and with the sweetest smile on her face, Cecilia's heart broke. It never quite healed.

She returned the framed picture of Arisha to the mantle after hearing the front door open and close. She heard footsteps enter the sitting room and halt.

She looked over her shoulder to Silas, standing in the threshold of the entrance with one hand in his pocket.

"Sorry about the late visit," said Silas. "I wanted to make sure you were okay. I heard Coronel Mustang was here."

"Silas," she started, "stop harassing Mustang."

"But—"

"No."

"I'm only—"

"No, Silas."

Cecilia turned around, advancing towards him, but instead of standing before him, she moved past him to the staircase in front of the foyer.

"Let me handle him if he persists," she told him, walking up the stairs, "but no more calling your connections to put distance between us. It's suspicious and sloppy. I expect more out of you."

She caught of glimpse of Silas after reaching the top of the stairs, standing in the foyer with his head hung low. "I apologize."

"Goodnight, Silas."

"Goodnight, Cath."

She halted. The name spoken was a purposeful reminder for her. She stared down at him for a terse second and walked to her bedroom.

It was not anyone's fault that they were feeling so testy that they felt the need to take it out on one another in that short exchange. In fact, Cecilia was certain that they were feeling cornered by Roy's intelligence and his potential to unravel all of their lies and expose the truth of them.

She dreamt of Arisha that night and woke up startled by her absence, saddened by the realization.

Cecilia walked downstairs to the kitchen to brew a cup of passionflower tea after tossing and turning for hours following her dream of Arisha. As she tinkered in the kitchen as quietly as humanly possible taking a mug from a cabinet, filling the kettle with water and tea leaves, and waiting for it to boil on the stove, she felt completely herself. She wasn't Cecilia Warren or Oona Marshall.

She was her— _Cath._

Upon the realization, she felt the creep of dark shadows fill her memory, overtaking the joy that once lit her sister's face.

* * *

 **xl** : I was supposed to post this last week with the 14th chapter, but I forgot this was the short one, so you are getting two chapters this time. My brain has been all over the place. I've been sad and unmotivated and trying hard to do all of my school work. Don't worry though, I'm getting better.

Thank you everyone for reading and to **starrat** , **Kiwi Mania** , and **Kimono Kay** , my appreciation is boundless. Thank you for sharing your thoughts and comments.


	16. The Scent of Petunia Grant

**Chapter 16** : The Scent of Petunia Grant

Cecilia returned to East City after completing her article. The plethora of information she unearthed in the libraries at Central City made the trip worth having to work at the hospital to keep up the façade of having returned permanently. While it had been a relaxing trip to take, one that she had not realized she had desperately needed—to be surround by the people that cared and loved her from the bottom of their hearts and knew her better than anyone else in the world had been therapeutic—she had to return.

Cecilia Warren's story had not ended, but it would. She hadn't yet decided whether she'd re-inhabit her townhouse to spend her days going to and from the clinic, slaving to earn the license that she had abandoned so easily three-years prior, or if she'd find a quieter occupation (and identity) elsewhere to pass the time. Nevertheless, she'd stop writing her slanderous articles with this last one. The missing piece that she had been search for she'd found in purposeful warfare on Amestris' end. If she'd ever wanted to prove the corruption of the military, she would with the article. The wars that had expanded the country from the tiny nation that had started it all had been plotted and planned.

Silas had refused to print it after reading through it, but she had fought for it. She had ordered him to publish it because it was something the people had a right to know. Rather, she had felt that the people had a right to choose whether this militant country as it was, aggressive and cold, was a suitable dwelling for them or not. They had a choice.

He had relented and had called Melrick to okay it for printing.

Cecilia had dropped the article off with Melrick to send to print (after he had given her a few pointers) and he had promised to have Petunia to deliver her a copy for her records, so she had left him a key to her apartment to give her.

Barbara was at her apartment using her bathroom to get ready for the opening party that a mutual acquaintance was holding for his new restaurant. She filled the room with that sweet-scented perfume that she loved.

"Sheesh, Barb, this place stinks of your perfume."

Cecilia waved her hand in front of her face as if that would be enough to make the strong smell go away.

"Get used to it 'cause you'll be smelling it all night." Barbara shot her a scathing look. "Is that what you're wearing?"

"What's wrong with what I'm wearing?"

"You look like somebody's grandma."

Cecilia glared at her. All she did was dress comfortably. She wasn't looking to impress anyone or bring a man home. She wanted to have a drink or two, return home to a warm bath, and go straight to bed. Also, she didn't think she looked like anyone's grandma. She wore a long skirt with a tight shirt and a loose cardigan over that to balance it out. She wore her hair down so it fell straight down her shoulders and even cut it a bit in the front so she'd have a fringe to frame her eyes.

"I just want to be comfortable."

"It sucks that screwing Mustang made you want to give up."

"Don't be stupid, I haven't given up."

Barbara leaned forward over the bathroom sink as she applied her lipstick. "Did I tell you that I ran into him yesterday?"

"No," said Cecilia, feeling a little curious, "but you were going to tell me now."

"He asked about you."

"Really?"

"Yeah, he said, ' _How's that asshole friend of yours?_ ' and then he invited me for dinner." Barbara smiled. "He really is a good man."

Jealously stung with the quickness of a snake and its venom spread quick. "Oh?"

"You don't have to look so dejected," complained Barbara.

"Who's looking dejected? Sheesh."

"You are," accused Barbara. "You're looking at me as if I slept with him and now you're angry."

"Well, did you?"

"What do you think?" snapped Barbara. "For one, he's hot and two, he's very charming. What was I supposed to do?"

"Oh, I don't know, say no?" retorted Cecilia, feeling the anger in her bones. "We've been through this before! We had a pact!"

Barbara started to laugh. Recognizing that stupid laugh of hers as the one she used after she thought she got someone good in a joke (even though it was a really shitty joke), Cecilia let out a frustrated noise.

"This isn't funny, Barb!"

"I didn't expect you to get so angry." Barbara relaxed, leaning her hip against the sink. "Look, you know me better than this, I wouldn't go anywhere near someone you were involved with, so why would you even believe it?"

"I trust you; it's him I don't trust. I mean, what would you do if he seduced you?"

"Say no? He may be hot, but he's not irresistible. Seriously, Cee, you're giving him way too much credit." Barbara turned back to the mirror to continue applying her make-up. "Besides, you're probably the only one that would fall for any of his seduction techniques. You're very weak-willed."

"What?"

"I've seen you go home with a man that wrote you a shitty poem on the back of your napkin."

"It was romantic!" she argued, recalling the incident with a bit of a fog.

"He spelled your name with a _k_ and wrote it three times vertically over some other woman's phone number."

"I was drunk!"

"Your standards are still pretty bad when you're sober, too."

"I like giving everyone equal opportunity! I love love!"

"Loving love doesn't mean you have to go about it like an idiot."

It was one jab after the next and the blows were starting to hurt.

"You have no tact."

"I don't like to sugarcoat things for you. You'll just expect it all the time." Barbara slammed her makeup brush on the side of the sink. "And what's the deal with this 'giving everyone equal opportunity'? Just admit you have bad taste."

"I'm saying that I'm not picky."

"Shut up, you're just trying to justify the fact that you like sweet-talking buffoons and men in uniforms."

"Mustang was a mistake."

"That's cute. Is that how you get yourself to sleep well at night?"

"I sleep very well, thank you very much."

"And you'd sleep better if you went after what you wanted."

"Well, Barb, since you're the expert, what do I want?"

"Roy Mustang."

Everyone needed to stop talking about Roy Mustang. She was trying so hard to forget that she had developed feelings for him _and_ confessed because making that first mistake wasn't enough to tempt her to make the next one.

"He investigated me, Barb, I would not date that!"

"He only did it because he likes you!"

"He stalked me to my grandfather's clinic."

"Because he likes you!"

"It's creepy! He wants to know everything about me!"

"It's romantic!" argued Barbara. "You should be flattered he went that far. I mean, isn't that the point of liking someone, wanting to know everything about them?"

"He thinks I'm a criminal!"

"Well, you were arrested for that protest—"

"Not that kind of criminal, the serious kind."

"I thought that previous kind was pretty treasonous."

"Who's side are you on?" demanded Cecilia. "You're supposed to be my friend. You're supposed to be helping me forget all about my love troubles by taking me out or something! You should be listening to me talk about my feelings!"

"You don't talk about your feelings! I am taking you out! And I am your friend!" Barbara huffed. She picked up her makeup brush and blush, dabbing some on her cheeks. "I don't understand why you insist on being so difficult. Okay, I'll admit, the whole investigating you and finding you at your family home is pretty creepy, but he's doing it because he wants to know you. Do you know how many questions he asked me about you?" She moved on to styling her hair. "What does she like? What kind of perfume does she use? What's her favorite kind of pen? Does she like music? What kind? What about flowers? Does she like flowers? What about chocolates?"

Cecilia was taken aback.

"He asked a lot of silly questions like that. He asked what your favorite vegetable was. That's so weird."

"What did you say?" asked Cecilia, oddly touched by the questioning. Who asked about favorite vegetables anyway?

"Broccoli, duh." Barbara played with putting her hair up as she looked at her through her reflection in the mirror. "I told him you love tangerines and peaches. That you're a morning person and that you like being spoiled by men."

Cecilia leaned into the threshold of the door, unsure of how to feel.

"He asked about you a lot, Cee."

"He's confused."

"Oh, and also, I told him you were extremely picky with restaurants."

"No! Why would you tell him that?"

"And that you have this thing about preparing food in the right manner and order, too."

"He's going to think I'm a freak! Why would you say any of that? You know I hate feeling embarrassed! God, I feel so stupid!"

"Why are you so focused on any of that? You should be flattered he wants to know all of this useless information about you."

If she ever saw Roy around the city, he would regret all the fishing he'd been doing. She thought she'd been clear back at the Marshall townhouse and over lunch, but she hadn't if he was going around asking pointless questions. What did he think to accomplish by doing so?

"Just do me a favor and stop answering his questions."

"Okay, grandma."

Cecilia decided to walk away from the bathroom to pick up the pair of flats that she planned to wear for the evening. She passed the mirror and saw herself in its reflection. She returned to stand in front of it and stared critically at her comfortable outfit.

She rummaged through her closet and tugged out a shorter dress from a hanger. She brought it back with her to the mirror and held it up against her body, contemplating it.

Barbara entered as Cecilia turned to the side with the dress pressed against her and wolf whistled, startling her.

"Wear that and I'll do your make-up."

"Are you done?" asked Cecilia, letting the dress fall from her body onto her arm. "Opening was an hour ago. We promised to get there early."

"Yeah, yeah, I'm done."

Barbara looked stunning in her carmine-colored halter dress, the top molded to her waist and the bottom flared slightly. She wore her blond hair in a high ponytail that fell down the top half of her back in curls. She slipped two gold bracelets on her right wrist.

Cecilia left the dress on the foot of her bed and grabbed her purse. "Let's go."

"Are you sure about that outfit?" she asked. "The other one is hotter."

"Yes, I'm sure."

Barbara sprayed her with perfume. "Well, at least put some of this on."

"Don't overspray!"

"Once is not enough, especially when you insist on wearing _that_!"

"Did you clean up my bathroom?"

"I will when we come home, don't mind it."

Barbara was in charge of making sure the door was locked on their way out. She would be staying the night because she would be drinking (and she'd gotten mad at Cornelius).

Cecilia drove to them to the restaurant where they were greeted by the owner. There were people inside enjoying the cuisine when they were seated among them on polished tables that held pots of multicolored flowers. The owner invited Cecilia into the kitchen after she had complimented his menu where she was introduced to the cooking staff. She asked to sit in on their work and watched them prepare the meals with great skill and consistency.

On her way back to her table to have dinner with Barbara, she sought out the owner and congratulated him again. Barbara was sitting between two men when she returned to her side. As always, they were handsome, but not exactly her type once she heard them speak. They bought them drinks and talked animatedly with them. She didn't deny they were charming, but she wasn't in any mood to smile coyly or flirt.

The music softly filled the room, dim in the backdrop of dozens of ongoing conversations, and the server staff's footsteps moving up and down the restaurant providing prime service for the customers sounded in the backdrop of the melodious atmosphere.

Cecilia indulged in a glass of pink wine to pass the time and ordered plenty of desert to enjoy while a singer walked up to the center of a makeshift stage in a sparkling dress to share her talent with the rest of the room. One by one, Cecilia watched customers coupling up to dance along with the raspy songstress' melody. She and Barbara were asked up by the men in their company, but Cecilia turned down the invitation reminded of Roy teaching her to waltz before stepping on her foot thanks to her two left feet. The man that had asked her found a partner in a mousey-haired girl that flushed as soon as he approached.

Another man asked her to dance as the current song ended, but she declined him as well.

Halfway through the evening, Cecilia was surprised to see two of her fellow reporters enter the restaurant. Upon spotting her, the two joined her.

"We read your article," one said.

"When? I dropped it off when Melrick was about to leave for the printers," said Cecilia.

"There were some delays, lots of reformatting had to be made to fit the advertisements," the other answered. "So we got to reading. We heard Mr. Marshall personally approved and edited it."

"It's very interesting, Cee, but don't you think you're pushing it with this?" asked the first reporter, worried. "I mean, I know that we get away with a lot of the things we do because we have private funding and Mr. Marshall has a lot of connections with the military, but you're outright accusing our army of starting wars for the sake of slaughter."

"Isn't that the point of our newspaper?" argued Cecilia. "Our slogan promotes truth and I dug around for some…a little."

"A little," the first scoffed. "As if you do anything small."

"Everyone is honestly a little anxious about it," said the second reporter. "I mean, we usually get ignored by the government, but we're wondering if this is going to attract their attention."

"I mean, what's your problem with the military?" asked the first. "You've been after them like a ravenous beast since you first came to work here. Did you lose someone in the war or something?"

"Don't say stupid shit like that," she retorted, annoyed. "Being passionate does not equate ravenous beast."

Barbara stumbled over laughing. "Cee, come here! Come here!"

"I already told you I don't want to dance," Cecilia complained as her blond friend grabbed her by the arm and started pulling her out of her seat. "Barb—"

"It's not dancing! I just want you to come with me! I have something to tell you!"

Cecilia let Barbara lead her into the ladies' room for semi-private conversation.

"David invited me back to his house," she announced excitedly. "You and Clark can come along too. He has more drinks and—"

"Who?"

"Don't you remember the kind souls that were paying for our drinks tonight?"

No.

"Oh, well, you're not going. You're too drunk."

"I'm not too drunk!"

She couldn't even stand still.

"You are. We have a sleepover planned."

"Why don't we invite them back to your place? Come on, Cee, you are the one that said I should be taking you out and making you forget about Roy, so let's take them home. I'm in the guest room anyhow. We'll still have our privacy if we want to do more."

"No! You shouldn't be running off with a stranger in your state!" Speaking those words in that strong tenor gave her déjà vu.

"It'll just be a little while, I promise," pleaded Barbara.

"I will call Corny if you don't stop!"

"Don't be an asshole! I just want to have fun!" complained Barbara, glaring at her.

Cecilia's anger boiled over quickly and she exploded. "Jeez! You're impossible when you're drunk! Do whatever you want! I'm going home!"

She headed for the door when Barbara grabbed her arm.

"You don't have to go home, Cee! Why are you so angry?"

"I'm not angry!" she denied, but she felt hurt. She thought that they might get the opportunity to have a serious conversation tonight (though she tried not to get her hopes up too high because her friend would be drunk). She needed the company. She didn't want to be alone. She had Matilda back home, but here, she was on her own. Cecilia calmed down enough to talk without revealing her emotions. "If you're going to go with him, go, but I'm leaving. You should call Corny to tell him where you'll be going, too. Don't give me that look, just do it. I'm tired and I have an early morning tomorrow. I'm not angry."

Barbara released her. "Are you sure?"

Cecilia nodded. "Yes."

She reached into her purse to hand Barbara the keys to her car, but she pushed them back into Cecilia's hands. "Just bring it over tomorrow whenever you can."

"Thanks."

Cecilia said goodbye to her coworkers and the owner of the shop before leaving. She held her cardigan shut tight over her body, the late night air was very chilly. She rushed to the car and waited until her frustration ebbed before driving home.

As she neared her building's street, she noticed black smoke rising into the sky and ahead, there were too many people crowded watching something. She pulled over to the curve, turned the vehicle off, and exited. She slammed the door shut and walked towards her building, as she neared it and started to listen to the whispers of those in her surroundings, dread sank its hungry teeth into her skin.

The red-bricked building where she had been living for the past three years was ablaze.

Perhaps, she'd been found.


	17. Shot in the Dark

**Chapter 17** : Shot in the Dark

Cecilia was standing on the opposite side of the street behind the largest crowd of people watching her building go up in flames. The military police was present and aiding residents vacate the apartment complex to clear the way for the fire brigade, whose sirens fell silent upon their quick arrival.

"Cee!" A freckled boy with short brown hair squeezed through the crowd, turning over his shoulder after exiting. "Grandma! It's Cee! She's okay! I told you she was okay!"

He went back to help his small wrinkly grandmother from the throng of people. Both of them were covered in soot and smelled strongly of smoke.

"Joe, Clementine, what hap—?"

The gangly teenager grabbed her arm and Clementine quickly hugged her, holding her as her grandson started to speak.

"There was a gunshot and then an explosion!" explained Joseph Tanner, her neighbor and Barbara's faithful source of information. "They said there was a dead woman and we thought it was you. It was in your apartment!"

"We were so worried," added Clementine, drawing back to look up at her with tears in her eyes. "Thank goodness you're okay, Cecilia."

"A dead woman?" asked Cecilia, her heart sinking.

"Yeah, in your apartment," said Joe.

She had hoped she had misheard him.

"Was someone waiting for you?" asked Clementine.

She gasped. "Petunia."

Cecilia stepped back, but looked back at her neighbors. She'd worry about them later, she needed to find a phone to call Petunia's husband. She needed to make sure that she was okay and that whoever was up in her apartment was someone else. There must have been a misunderstanding somewhere.

"I'll be back."

"Cee! Wait! I'll go with you!"

"Stay with your grandma!" shouted Cecilia. "You should be with her!"

"But you're all alone," argued Joe, persistent. "Grandma, it's okay, right? Mom's here."

Clementine nodded. "You take care of her, Joe."

Cecilia sighed, allowing Joe to accompany her. She was acquainted with Clementine and Joe beyond being neighborly because when their landlord changed all the locks and lost his master key, she ended up locked out of her apartment and staying across the hall in theirs. It had only been for a day, but from then on, Clementine would send her baked goods with her grandson on a weekly to biweekly basis.

She ran to the nearest public phone and asked to be connected to Petunia's household. She recognized her husband's voice when he answered.

"Has Petunia returned home?"

"Not yet," he replied. "Did something happen?"

It was no use upsetting him, not when she barely knew anything herself. "No. I was just looking for her."

"I'll ask her to call you when she gets home."

"I'll be staying at the Polaris Hotel."

"I'll let her know."

After hanging up, she called Melrick's office to ask after Petunia, but there was no answer. She tried his house, but his wife told her that he would be late. She thanked her and hung up.

Cecilia didn't have enough change to make another call and turned to Joseph, who quickly rummaged through his pockets, providing her with enough. She thanked him and called Silas.

"Hello?"

"Where are your stalkers when I need them?" she demanded, looking around herself. There was usually someone watching over her. She didn't know their faces because the rotations were made so she couldn't tell, but she always knew they were present. If something happened, they would show up. She had that expectation because that was what occurred every time she so much as stubbed her toe after the incident.

"I gave them vacation time given all the protesting you did to—wait a minute…what do you mean you need them?" he snapped. "Did something happen?"

"The building is on fire and there's a dead woman in my apartment that I think is Petunia Grant…and…and"—the budding bubble of panic inside of her burst and she begun to tremble in fear of what this could represent—"Silas…I'm scared. I'm—"

She forced the phone away from her to keep him from hearing the frightened sob that escaped her. Joseph patted her back comfortingly and she smiled at him, trying to keep it together.

"Cecilia!"

She brought the phone back to her ear. "Yeah?"

"Go to one of my hotels. You'll be safe there."

"I'll be at the Polaris."

"I'll catch the first train to East City tomorrow morning. Go straight to the hotel. Stay there…and don't move."

"Okay."

Cecilia hung up the phone. She turned to Joseph and he stared up at her, bright with confusion. She understood that it'd benefit her to make it to the Polaris Hotel and sit in wait for Silas to arrive. He would help it all blow over. But she couldn't sit still. She was worried that nobody answered at the office.

"I'm going to my office. You should probably make it back to your grandma."

"Grandma said that I should protect you and I'm going to do it."

"Joe, I appreciate that, but I just—"

"Cee, you can't go alone right now! What if they were trying to get to you and got that Petunia lady instead?" asked Joseph.

"That is a more solid reason that you should go back."

"But why would they be targeting you? What did you do?"

It wasn't that she did anything; it was that she was born in the wrong life.

"It was probably a coincidence."

Joseph looked terrified, even though he tried to appear relaxed. She could see his long, thin limbs trembling under the soft light of the streetlamps. She couldn't leave him to go back on his own in that state and she didn't think she'd be able to run to the newspaper office without breaking down halfway there out of fear that it was not a coincidence and that she'd been found.

It was bound to happen. She'd been prepared for that her entire life, but she thought that she'd be safe with how often she changed identities. She believed that would at least buy her enough time to find a way to deal with the situation when it presented itself so that it didn't result in her imprisonment or death.

"Come on," said Cecilia, leading the way to the car.

Cecilia drove to her workplace, growing upsettingly anxious the closer she was when the sign of flames answered the disquiet she felt. There were MPs blocking the street, so she stopped the car and exited.

"Ma'am, please, it isn't safe here—"

"Cee!"

Cecilia watched one of her coworkers run past the barrier the MPs created to her. She saw that he was covered in soot and she knew the newspaper building was burning as well and that the MPs were trying to contain the flames as they awaited the arrival of the fire brigade. Joseph exited the car to join them.

"Do you know this woman?" asked the MP.

"She's my cousin," he lied. "We were supposed to meet up here."

"Oh, very well," said the MP. "You should take him to the hospital to see a doctor. He was hurt in there."

"You were hurt?"

Her coworker raised his hand to point to the back of his head and she took him aside to sit on the sidewalk.

"Wait, I said a doctor—"

"I am a doctor!"

Cecilia looked at the back of his head, cleaning the blood off with the handkerchief she carried in her purse. She held the back of his head towards the light to see a small cut from what she assumed had been a blunt blow.

"Seriously, Cee? A doctor?" asked her coworker once the MP was gone.

"I just wanted him to go away," she said. Her hands were trembling as she lifted his head up to hers. There were scratches on his chin, which he received after he fell on his face. She opened his eyes wide towards the light. He blinked wildly. His pupils were normal. "Do you feel any nausea?"

"Are you serious?"

"You were hit in the back of the head with a hard object that rendered you unconscious, right?"

"It was weird," he started. "I thought I was alone in the office. I was supposed to close up, but as I was filing the stores, I felt something hit me in the back of the head…and then…nothing."

"Any nausea?"

"No."

"How bad is the headache?"

"Manageable."

"On a scale of one to ten."

"Like a five, I think."

"Okay, that's good."

"And when I woke up, the whole building was on fire! Everything inside was a mess! It was like someone had been looking for something!"

"Nobody else was inside?"

"No. Just me. Melrick had gone—"

"Hey, you, miss! You said you were a doctor, right?"

Cecilia turned to the MP that had confronted her after leaving the car and saw him gesturing her to him. She couldn't take back that statement anymore and nodded. She'd regret it. Lying about it.

"We found another man that needs immediate attention!"

Cecilia put the folded handkerchief in Joseph's hand and pressed it to the back of her coworker's head with the right amount of pressure. "Don't do it any harder than this. We need to stop the bleeding. I'll come right back."

Joseph nodded, his lower lip trembling.

Cecilia ran to the MP, who grabbed her by the elbow and led her to group of others that took her down an alleyway. She caught a glimpse at the office building, but it was nothing but flames. It didn't look like anything would be saved. She was only happy that nobody died.

Another MP was crouched beside the body of a fallen man. She stopped running because she recognized the shredded pieces of the newspaper layout sitting scattered all around him covered in his own blood. She swallowed hard as she stepped closer to see the back of his bald head and she felt like running in the opposite direction, away from him.

"He's bleeding out!"

Cecilia forced herself forward and ordered the MP next to him to help her turn him on his back. She saw the deep gash on the side of his throat oozing his life away.

"He has a pulse?" she asked.

"A weak one," said the MP. His hands were bloody.

She reached removed her cardigan and bundled it up, pushing it against his throat. "Hold this here. Cradle his head, too. Like this."

She showed him and left it in his hands. He had other wounds on him. She ripped open his shirt and stared. She didn't know where to begin. She couldn't do anything. She understood that she wouldn't be able to save Melrick Walker. It'd take a miracle and she didn't believe in them.

She cursed and shouted to the others. "Does anyone have matches or a lighter?"

There were whispers repeating her request, but no movement.

"Find me matches or a lighter! Now!"

She would have to burn the wounds shut and hope that he resisted the pain. Any internal damage would have to be taken care of by a professional.

The MPs scrambled away to find a matchbox or a lighter. She did what she could with what she had on hand, but it wasn't enough. She was terrified upon seeing him lying there face down with the blood pooling underneath him. She was scared now to see the red staining the cardigan she gave the MP assisting her. She tried to keep him alive, called out to him to bring him back from unconsciousness, but none of it worked. The slow pulse that kept him among the living went out so quickly that she understood they wouldn't have been able to take him into the nearest hospital. She covered her mouth with a bloody hand and shrunk as she sat back on her haunches, feeling utterly useless. She felt the tears hit the side of her hand and let out a sob.

Melrick.

When an MP returned with a lighter and a blond lieutenant holding a cigarette pinched between his lips at his back, she shook her head.

"I don't need it anymore," she said, and the words left her cold. "He's dead."

She stared blankly at the shredded layout. It was illegible with his blood having soaked in. She reached to take her cardigan and attempted to stand, but her legs gave out halfway. The blond lieutenant caught her, straightening her out.

"Whoa there doctor, not too fast."

She thanked him. She looked over at the MP that had assisted her. "His name is Melrick Walker. He was the editor-in-chief of the newspaper whose offices burned down over there."

"Did you know him?" asked the blond lieutenant.

"He was a friend of my father's."

She walked away from the lieutenant when she heard a familiar voice.

"Havoc!"

Cecilia saw Roy walking towards the lieutenant when his gaze locked on her face. He stopped walking and started to run until he reached her.

"Are you hurt?" he asked immediately.

She shook her head, whispering softly. "It's not…it's not my blood."

"She's the doctor," said Havoc. "She tried to save a man the MPs found in the alley."

"I have to go, excuse me."

Cecilia walked past them and hurried back to Joseph as she wiped the tears from her eyes with the back of her hand. She found an MP in their place that informed her that he was taken to the hospital to receive treatment and that Joseph accompanied him, but that EMTs were grateful to her for making sure the bleeding stopped when they had arrived.

She thanked him for the information. She tried to clean her hands on her clothes, afraid of dirtying Barbara's car, but the blood was stubborn. She was lucky that Joseph and her coworker were out of sight because she revealed herself as a doctor (though she wasn't one, far from it actually, she realized). She wouldn't have to be interrogated by them.

She leaned into the car, slumping down until she was crouched beside it, holding her head in her hands. Even if her hands weren't dirty, she wouldn't be able to drive if she couldn't stop shaking. She decided to wait until she could. Sitting there in the fetal position listening to the surrounding sounds, the thick smell of pollution from the smoke, she remained in the lone company of her tears. She'd walk home if her legs weren't weak.

Maybe, she should've tried that.

"Miss…?"

Cecilia lifted her face at the female MP standing a few feet away when Roy approached.

"I'll take care of it."

"Yes sir."

With a salute, she walked away.

"Oona," he said, stopping in front of her. "Did you come in this car?"

"Yeah," she answered.

"Get inside. If you can't take yourself home—somewhere safe, I will once I've finished here."

She stood up, nodding, understanding only that she needed to get in the car and do nothing more. Roy removed his coat and draped it over her shoulders, moving in front of her to pull the collar forward. The brush of his fingers against her jaw was a shock of electricity that quickened her breaths. He stared into her eyes and she looked in his, wanting nothing more than the comfort of him, but she snapped out of it quickly.

Cecilia got inside the car with her cardigan bundled up in her arms and she waited, not necessarily for him. She started to think about Petunia, who she could not find when she called her home, so she feared she had been a victim of the murder meant for her. If her suspicions proved correct, if somebody died the death plotted against her, she didn't think she could forgive herself. But then…why would anyone go after Melrick and their newspaper's office? Did her article cause that too? Was she responsible for his death as well?

She was crying into her hands when Roy opened the car door.

"Move over."

She sniffled, sliding to the other side of the seat. "I'm sorry."

He climbed in, shutting the door. "Why are you apologizing?"

"I…don't know yet," she answered tremulously.

"I heard about your building…" He started after turning the car with the key he took from the seat. "Do you have a safe place to stay?"

"The Polaris Hotel," she told him. "I'm…supposed to go to...but I…"

"All right."

Roy surprised her by not taking her to the Polaris Hotel. He took her to his house and when she looked to him for an explanation, he said, "You don't need to be alone."

Her heart skipped a beat. He showed a deep understanding of her that shocked her. "You don't have to do this…"

He opened the car door for her. "If it makes you feel better, I'm not bringing you here to ask you questions. I don't think you should be alone after this…it must have been hard for you."

Cecilia lowered her eyes to the ground as she exited the car, sidestepping away. He slammed the door shut.

She closed her eyes tightly as she said, "Thank you."

Roy led her inside his house and guided her to his bathroom. "There is an extra towel in that rack," he said, pointing to it. "I'll bring you clothes."

She waited for him by the entrance of the bathroom until he returned with neatly folded clothes that he placed on the side of the sink. He left her, shutting the door behind him. She looked around. It was a small bathroom with only enough space for a shower stall, sink, and toilet. The walls were covered by tan colored wallpaper that was framed by the deep brown wooden frames that were prominent in the house's structure.

Cecilia removed her clothes and took a long, hot shower. As the water rushed down the length of her body, she began to cry again. How would she tell Barbara? If Petunia were the woman killed, what would she say to her family? She hated this.

Once she finished, she dried her body and tugged on the black sweatpants and white t-shirt he left for her. She exited into the living room and walked towards the kitchen after the scent of tea reached her nose. As she approached the entryway, she could hear Roy moving around inside.

Roy finished pouring two cups of tea and took one to her after taking notice of her presence. "I thought this would make you feel better," he said. "If you're hungry, I can make you something."

"I'm not hungry, but thank you for the tea." Cecilia leaned into the doorframe and brought the teacup to her mouth with both hands, the heat rising from it warmed her face. "I appreciate your help, but I won't be staying the night. I don't want to put you out."

"You're not."

"You shouldn't have gone so far for me," she told him. "I would've been fine."

"Would you have been?" He moved to her, reaching to touch her wet cheek. "You're crying into the tea."

"You said you wouldn't ask any questions," she said, her voice broken.

"I did," he said. "I'm sorry." He took the teacup from her shaky hands and placed it atop the nearest flat surface. He returned to take her by the arms and drew her smaller frame against his, wrapping her up in his warm embrace. She shuddered with emotion and very slowly broke down, burying her face against his shoulder. His heartrate quickened beneath her palm. He breathed her in and expelled a relieved breath that heated her neck. Her cheeks flushed and she pushed against his chest, anxious to put even an inch of distance between them, but he wrapped his arms around her tighter. "I thought you were dead."

Cecilia's eyes widened and he squeezed her body. She broke down. She couldn't contain herself. Her defenses fell apart piece by piece until it all rushed out of her. "It's my fault," she blurted. "This is my fault."

" _Shhhh_ ," he said, leaning forward to bury his face in her shoulder.

"It has to be my fault," she sobbed. "I couldn't keep my mouth shut and I used other people to protect myself. I've been so…so scared that they'd find me…find a reason to kill me…" She squirmed out of his hold, ashamed to have allowed herself to be in his arms for as long as she was—to feel comforted by his arms and his voice. She'd wanted to cling to him and pretend he was hers, but as soon as the thought had struck, she'd felt as though she'd woken up. She calmed down enough to realize what she finished saying and controlled her emotions enough to speak normally. She dried her shameful tears and swallowed down her fear. "I'm sorry, today was difficult. Can I borrow your couch? I want to lie down."

"Take my bed if you're tired, I'll sleep on the couch."

"You don't have to," she told him. "I'm intruding. You were nice enough to let me borrow your shower and clothes. I don't want to…" Her voiced dropped to a whisper. She was at a loss for words and lowered her eyes. "Sorry."

"Take the bed. Rest. I'll take you to the Polaris Hotel tomorrow morning if you want."

"Thank you."

* * *

 **xl** : I'm having a miserable time. Not writing, of course, just life in general. FML.

Thank you **Nameless I am** , **Kimono Kay** , and **EvaTheNymphe** for your feedback. Thank you everyone for reading.


	18. Sinking Man

**Chapter 18** : Sinking Man

To say that his small vacation to Central City left him completely satisfied would be a lie that tasted too bitter for him to swallow. Roy had reached a level of brazenness that he hadn't thought possible. He had one lapse of judgment after the next and had sunken further and further into an abyss of no return. He had methods of charming women into his world and they had worked. Sure, his frivolity had lessened since he had been assigned to East HQ post-Ishvalan Civil War, but he had needed the time to process and heal. He hadn't come back from that unscarred, though he had done more damage than he had taken, but he had learned from it. He had time to repent. He had nightmares that had kept him from closing his eyes when each night after had fallen. He had developed ambitions to see it all change and he had begun working to attain them, gathering all of the necessary pieces into his orbit.

However, he had strayed. His mind had been subjected to the invasion of a budding concern for a woman that had only been meant to be a pastime. He had sought in her to forget the horrors that haunted him. He had signed up for noncommittal, meaningless sex with a woman that had proven that she knew what she was doing.

Cecilia had been the result of an aggravating coincidence. They had been present at the wrong place and time. He had every reason to leave her there shivering in the cold in her short dress, hurling drunken insults at him, but he had been drawn to her like a moth to a flame…and he had burned. He could have gone his entire life not knowing Cecilia. He had his goals. The same could have been said about her. She had lived a perfectly content life printing libel on the Sunspace Tribunal before him and nothing would be reason enough to stop her.

Circumstance dictated that it should not have occurred as such. Together they had entered a sexual relationship. It had a time limit. That had never been an issue to understand and they had set out to make the best out of it before the buzzer went off to release them from their verbal contract. He had pictured it would have been an amicable and mutual parting, but the reality had been the opposite.

They had fallen into a routine. He had softened around her, watching the layers of her personality reveal themselves in a kaleidoscope of colors. Every step that they had taken forward had been done outside of their conscious minds. He had not seen the pattern until she had cut it abruptly, reminding him of the clear division between him and her.

Roy had lied to himself for he had not believed that his current emotional state could sustain the fragility he had glimpsed in Cecilia. He had not believed she could help him either. He had seen their bodies come together—their limbs had tangled beneath the sheets—and had experienced mind-numbing pleasure. He had fooled himself into thinking that they had become what they lacked—that through the erotic art he had found equanimity in mind after having lost it in that devastating war. He had believed that she had found her piece of happiness because they had been more than aware of how broken they were when they had attracted one another into their lives, their tattered souls had gravitated to one another like magnets.

He had caught a glimpse of happiness on that final night. It had sparked in him with the ease that alchemy had to his fingertips. His breath had lodged in his throat when she had opened the door in that blue dress and heels; her black hair had framed her excited face with shallow waves and had curled inward at the top of her breasts. He had hoped that when he had prompted an explanation through carefully calculated words that she would admit to having dressed up for him, but she had brought her father into the conversation and it had disappointed him to know that he hadn't been the reason for her appearance.

Conversation had filled her apartment. She had revealed more of herself to him and he had unburdened himself of the answers to the questions she had asked in return. They had moved her living room furniture as music played in the background and had danced in the center as well as her uncoordinated movements allowed.

Despite it all, he had arrived to her apartment full of doubts. He had no trust in her word. He had no reason to believe that she ever told the truth. It had annoyed him to think that he had spent many hours concerned about his lack of trust than he had been in reminding himself that it should not have mattered as their relationship had not warranted honesty. He had confronted her into giving him something—he would have taken anything, he had only wanted a truth to hold onto. It had backfired at the mention of her ex-boyfriend and he had hurt her. He had seen it in her face the instant his dagger-like accusation had sunken into her skin and he had cursed his hotheadedness, but had not wanted to be a replacement to George Perkins. And yet, he had not been able to shake off the feeling that he was.

Deep down in the abysmal part of his being he had known that he _had_ to be the replacement. He had sealed that black emotion away.

Their tempers had cooled. Conversation had drawn them together once more. When he had kissed her, she had trembled in his arms. He had wanted to kiss her the rest of the night, just endlessly do it until their lips were bruised and aching, and nothing more. Just kiss.

He had known that if things had escalated sexually, he would not have taken her into her room for meaningless sex. He would've made love to her. When he had held her in his arms, teaching her to dance, he had looked into her eyes and had realized that he cared for her. He had wanted her. He had wanted to love her.

She had realized this before he had the time to consider his thoughts wrong and had crudely offered her body for him to use. He had every reason to refuse, but it was what she had wanted. It had infuriated him to the point that he had not been able to keep his black feelings from surfacing and taking control. He had hurt her. He had hurt himself.

He had taken that glimpse of golden joy and had crushed it.

That night had ended it.

The rest had been too complicated to mull over while Roy sat at the edge of his bed watching Cecilia sleep. After a brief sleep, she had exited into the living room asking to use his phone, which she had used to call someone. He had listened to her voice, so small and full of worry, and had heard the pain in her spill into apologetic words. She had dried the tears from the corner of her eyes when she had gone to him for medicine that could help her sleep. He hadn't had any and offered to keep her company until she managed. She surprisingly accepted. He wondered why the entire time he pretended not to steal glances at her every time she glimpsed at him.

He had heard about the fire in her building and had experienced a stab in his chest when they had found a body in her apartment. He had wanted to storm in there to prove it wasn't her, but he'd been terrified that it would be, so he had broken his group up and had gone to the second fire, leaving Hawkeye in charge. When he had seen her alive, he had almost been unable to contain himself. He had feared her death. He had learned he liked her, but she'd never reciprocate. He had seen that evening that perhaps, their feelings were mutual.

He decided not to act on them, but he hadn't been able to stop himself from holding her in his arms. She smelled of his soap and shampoo. His clothes fit her slighter frame a little looser, but her body fit well in his arms. Her warm tears had soaked into his uniform. She blamed herself and the mystery of her expounded. His doubts took priority and in that moment that she had claimed it had been her fault that people had died, he had received all the confirmation that weeks of thinking and interrogating had not given him. In an instant, she had come undone, but she had years of hiding her secrets that she had noticed fast and had taken it all back. She had locked her blame back inside its box.

For the first time since he had started to seek out her truths, he had not cared. He had wanted her to stop hurting. He had wanted the tears to stop and for her to smile, but her burden had been heavier than they could have anticipated.

Cecilia appeared peaceful at rest, but she had cried so much for so long that occasionally the feeling would shudder out of her in a breath. He reached over to touch the side of her head, her hair damp underneath his fingertips, and thought about wanting to hold her in his arms until the sadness left her and her body stopped quaking.

Yet, he couldn't. He resisted.

They were compatible and they were not. He couldn't risk involving himself with her further when she'd driven him to investigate her. That'd struck him as unhealthy. They weren't right for each other. She had more secrets. He should not have overlooked her crime, but he couldn't report it. Even if he had the potential to be so callous towards her, he had no hope that he'd get far with Silas' connections. He simply never considered it. He wanted to know her.

Roy removed his hand from her hair and stood. He drew his blanket over her shoulder and left her to sleep. He exited his bedroom quietly and returned to his couch, sitting down between the pillow and bunched up blanket.

Tomorrow she would go. She would be asked to speak about the incident and he wondered if she'd be Cecilia or Oona. Probably the latter. She needed to recount the evening that she experienced. He bet Silas Marshall would come around as well.

A case would be open. It wasn't every day that they found a dead woman in someone else's apartment and two buildings on fire at the same time that another man was found dying, the one she couldn't save. She would be a suspect. Cecilia. She lived in the apartment where the woman was found dead, but he doubted she was responsible. She didn't look like the kind that would kill.

Maybe that made her perfect.

How would she get out of this predicament when it challenged her two identities? Would it reveal a third?

Roy sighed, exhausted by his racing thoughts. He should've been asleep a long time ago. He'd be waking up earlier to report to HQ, but his mind was plagued with worry.

He couldn't sleep, so he didn't.

* * *

 **x** **l** : A short, transitional chapter.

I have a poll running in my profile for Halloween updates. If you read any of my other stories, apart from this one, you should vote. I'm trying to do a Top 3 update for Halloween since I don't have the time to churn out a chapter for everything. Vote for Firestarter (even if you're still guaranteed a chapter since I have enough - _shhh_ )!

Thank you **starrat** and **Kimono Kay** for your reviews.


	19. In the Maelstrom of Contempt

**Chapter 19** : In the Maelstrom of Contempt

As promised, Roy dropped her off at the Polaris Hotel in the morning where Silas had been pacing the front entrance like a maniac contemplating his next move. Silas perked up after seeing her and ran to her, reaching out to hug her when he noticed Roy standing next to her. His demeanor changed immediately.

"I should have known you'd be involved," said Silas.

Roy smirked, his self-confidence staggering. "Oh yeah?"

"You should be thankful to him," said Cecilia. "In fact, you should reward him. I could've _died_ somewhere on the street. _Alone. Afraid._ " Each emphasis was a jab at his absence that he took to heart. "So, you could say that he saved me and you should be grateful."

Silas forced himself to look at Roy and offered him his hand. Roy took it.

"Thank you," Silas said cordially, squeezing his hand.

Roy didn't let Silas get the better of him. He returned her guardian's peaceful smile and tightened his own grip. "It wasn't a problem."

"Could I do anything for your trouble?" asked Silas.

"Definitely," said Roy without preamble.

"Just give him your card and be done with it, I'm hungry," said Cecilia, putting all of her energy into seeming nonchalant. She headed for the entrance of the hotel.

Silas released Roy's hand and reached into his jacket's inner pocket, offering his business card to him. "When you decide what it is that I can do, call me. I'll be sure that you are rewarded for your kindness, coronel, given that it is within reason."

"Dad!"

Silas walked to her side quickly as she took one final look at Roy and smiled at him. He inclined his head and turned away, departing. At the entrance, the woman at the check-in counter greeted them animatedly at the sight of Silas, who walked up to her and acquired a key to one of the suites on the top floor. He handed it to Cecilia as they walked side by side through the pearlescent and black entrance hall to the elevator. Once inside, he dug around his pants' pocket and drew out a roll of cenz, which he pushed towards her.

"I brought you a bag of clothes from home, so you can get out of whatever it is you're wearing," he said, pushing the button to the uppermost level, "but this is for anything else that you might need. No more cute kitty heels, though. You have enough at home."

"You're worried about me buying shoes? Are you serious? Above all else? The fact that two people died and that it could've been three. One of your newspaper offices and _my_ apartment was set on fire."

"I've already been contacted by the military police concerning the office before I left Central City this morning," said Silas. "I went ahead and told them that my daughter was temporarily staying in the compromised apartment as well, so someone will be coming by this afternoon to take your statement."

"What about the fact that all the people in East City know me as Cecilia Warren?"

"I took care of that already," he answered. "You were the witness of a crime that required the relocation of the entire family and our surname to go from Franklin to Marshall. You branched out as an adult and took on your grandmother's name to make settling down easily."

"Will I be asked about this _crime_?"

"Likely."

"Should I answer?"

The elevator stopped on her floor and she stepped out after Silas, who stopped abruptly. He put his hand on her abdomen and every muscle in her body tightened as she lifted her eyes to meet his.

"This is the reason you left Central City," said Silas, calling forth a horrible memory. "If that alchemist had not found you, you would've been dead and your enemies would have won."

Cecilia pushed his hand away, weakened by the vivid recollection of the night that should've ended her life because as the blade had sunken deep into her flesh, the pain rushing through her body, she had given up on what life she had remaining. She had believed, then and there, that dying was easier than living.

"Your room is just down this hall," said Silas, having made his point, he guided her to the room he booked for her. He followed her inside and shut the door behind him.

Cecilia chased all the bad thoughts away, but she couldn't make the feel of the knife carving her abdomen open go away.

"After they take your statement, I want you to come home and resume your tutelage with your grandfather," he told her. "We don't have much in details, so I cannot currently confirm whether you have been found or not."

She recalled her useless presence at the alley where Melrick died. It made no difference if she completed her training or not because she'd never be able to save someone that was dying. She didn't have the passion for it.

If she'd tried harder, she might've been able to save Melrick, but that'd been wishful thinking. It would've been impossible to help him when he'd been on the street bleeding out before she'd made it to him.

"Yeah."

"You can decide what you want to do once things clear."

"Okay."

"And, Oona," he called, making her turn. He placed his hand on her shoulder, looking at her with a sincere smile. "I'm so happy you're okay."

That angered her. A button switched on and she slapped his hand off her shoulder, shocking him. "I'm _not_ okay," she snapped. "There are two people dead. I'm likely the prime suspect—"

"You have an alibi, don't you? You're not a murderer."

She scoffed. "Two people died! Melrick Walker died! A currently unidentified woman died in my apartment! It could have very well been Petunia Grant! She was delivering a copy of my assignment tonight, I left her my keys! How can I possibly face their families knowing that they're probably dead because of me?"

"The woman hasn't been identified. You shouldn't jump to conclusions."

"But she never went home! I called her house in the middle of the night asking after her and she hadn't made it home."

"She could've gotten delayed—"

"She wouldn't have. She would've dropped off my copy and gone straight home. That'd been the plan. She wouldn't wander off somewhere else where something could happen! She's not like that! And if she's dead—if she's dead, how could I ever—"

"Oona," said Silas, approaching her, but she stepped back.

She didn't want to be comforted. She needed to vent, release all the emotions she'd bottled up to spare herself the embarrassment in front of Roy (and his curiosity). She could do it here with Silas who knew everything. She didn't need to lie to him. She could express herself with him.

"No! Two people died!"

"But you are alive."

"What does that mean?" she shouted, upset that she felt like crying again.

"What?"

"I keep repeating that two people died and you're so clinical about it!"

"It is unfortunate that they are dead and I will express my condolences to them properly, but you cannot fault me for being more invested in your livelihood than I ever will be in theirs."

"Melrick Walker was your friend!"

"He was and I am saddened by his death, but—"

"Stop treating their lives as if they aren't worth the same as mine! You're acting as if you wouldn't have cared if the entire city had been burned to the ground with everyone in it if I came out of the wreckage alive!"

"That is simply because they are not worth yours."

For the first time in her life, she felt disappointed by his response. "That's despicable," she said, feeling her eyes begin to weep. "That is a horrible thing to say about them. To even feel that my life means more than theirs when we are the same. How could you?"

"That's it, though, you are not the same," said Silas. "You are a member of a governing family. Your worth is insurmountable. No amount of Melrick Walkers or Petunia Grants could ever come to equate one of you. If they perished so that you could be allowed to live, so be it, but I will not hear any more of this nonsense."

"I am so fucking insignificant at this point that the likes of me could never amount to half of what Melrick and Petunia are," she spat, crying furious tears. "My family name matters very little if nobody but a cult of paranoid conspirators believes that I'm still alive." She let out a sob. "It's my fault they're dead."

"We cannot confirm that you were the one being targeted. This could have been a freak accident—"

"Stop talking!" she interjected. "I've heard enough of your spiel! Get lost! Get out and stay out of my presence! You did this! You've placed me in this endless loop of misfortune! If you hadn't insisted on me working at the Tribunal. If you hadn't put down demands! If you hadn't tried to hide me so well! They wouldn't have died! They shouldn't have died if they died the deaths meant for me!"

"I have only allowed your restless spirit to wander. You would not have been content locked up in a mansion your entire life. I gave you opportunity and I have protected you from harm."

"Just leave!"

"I understand, please excuse me."

Cecilia sank down into a seat at the edge of the bed after he left and began to sob. She covered her mouth to keep the sound level down, but the sadness and frustration created a terribly potent reaction in her. She couldn't help it. She was just about ready to detonate. She hated this. She hated Silas.

What would she tell Barbara? How would she tell Melrick's wife? What if it was Petunia? Could she apologize to her family? She couldn't think of any of it. It frustrated her and cut her deeply. She ached and cried inconsolably. She sobbed and craved the warmth of the comfort she experienced last night, but she didn't want to accept her desire for it. She feared that investing in that emotion would lead to questions, and in a desperate plea to hold onto a solid relationship, she would spill. She would talk as she had to the last man that had known her secret and tried to use it against her.

Roy was in the military. He'd be forced to say it. He could blackmail her with it. He could be sure that she was returned home. She'd be killed. She wouldn't last a minute. Nobody wanted her there. It was convenient that she was away. She couldn't stand the memories of that horrid place—the dark, cold nights and the constant ache of her body, the bruises it carried like a brand and the pain that filled her heart.

And how, she asked herself, if a life as full and complete as Melrick's be worth less than the broken, violent affair that had brought hers into a maelstrom of contempt? How could a man who worked hard for his wife doing what he loved and taking care of his employees as if they were his own children be less than her—a woman that drank to excess in order to forget and indulged in promiscuity to feel loved? How? How could she make Silas see that the past her did not define who she had become as a result? She wasn't happy. She was miserable.

The only happiness she had in her reach, she squandered (and would continue to do so if it present itself again). She wasn't a priceless jewel or an important family heirloom to be measured by any worth, but the insistence Silas had always bothered her, though it had never escalated to this extent.

Cecilia hated to be angry with Silas. He had done so much for her. He had brought her to her aunt's house and had provided her and Arisha with as much comfort as he could to make up for allowing them to suffer for so long. He had felt indebted to her because he had not helped when she had asked him to do so. He hadn't been able to move. He had stood still and had watched her shamed.

She loved him, but she hated him.

She couldn't overcome the guilt that possessed her and had feared she'd be unable to put herself together for when she'd be interviewed about yesterday's events.

Somehow, she managed, though her body was heavy and her eyes red (bloated from the crying). She had found suitable clothes to wear among those that she found in the bag Silas had brought with him. An MP accompanied by two others joined her in her bedroom, the one that did the questioning sat in the seat across her at the small table in the room.

The questions were basic: Where were you at XX:XX? Who were you with? Can anyone vouch for you? What were you doing there? Why did you go to the Tribunal's offices? What is your relationship with Petunia? Have you been a doctor long? Have you been a trainee long?

She answered with honest and concise sentences. "I was at the restaurant opening of an old friend. Here is the address." She borrowed a pen and paper to scribble down the address. "I went with a friend, Barbara Walker." At their quizzical looks, she explained. "She is Melrick Walker's niece—the man who died." She continued responding as the questions came one after the next. "Barbara can vouch for me, but I would advise against bothering her. The restaurant's owner can as well. Two of my coworkers were there as well. I can give you their names." She did. "As I said, it was a restaurant opening and Barbara and I were personally invited by the owner. I went to the offices because I was worried about Petunia…after seeing that my building was on fire I called her house to see if she was home—has the woman that was in my apartment been identified?" She tried to gauge the man's expression, but couldn't read him. "I like to think we were friends. She was an easy person to get along with. No, I'm not a doctor yet…I don't have a license to practice, but I have been training long." Although, not recently. "I started learning seven years ago. I had a year of surgical training completed, but I left. I don't have any intention of working as a doctor."

"Well, that should be all," said her interrogator. "We will have to take everyone's statements of that night to confirm yours. For the time being, you are to remain here with one of my men until your name is cleared."

As expected, they were suspicious of her, but they couldn't arrest her either, which meant they sold themselves to Silas.

"Has the dead woman been ID?" she asked again, as they were leaving their seats.

"Yes," the man said, "It was Petunia Grant."

Cecilia left her chair and sank into a seat at the foot of the bed after her fears were confirmed. The MPs exited her room, but she heard her interrogator order the one called Lewis to stay and report all of her movements back to their office until she had been proven innocent by everyone else's accounts.

It was her fault. Petunia didn't have enemies. At least, Cecilia didn't think she did. It wouldn't make sense that she was killed in her apartment, which was then set on fire. Was there any point to setting the place on fire after killing her?

Was it her article on military corruption…? No, it couldn't have been. At best, people would join her in her next smear campaign against them only to be shut down by the same horde of MPs that were tired of dealing with her and Silas. At worst, people would call it crazy and she'd receive hate mail via Petunia. This went beyond what she considered a fair extremity. This was downright psychotic.

It petrified her as she mourned Petunia's loss, blaming herself for her death. The only reason she was at her apartment was because she left her the keys and asked if she could drop off a copy of her article to keep for her records. If she'd asked her to keep it with her instead, whoever killed her would have gotten their intended target and she wouldn't be suffering this guilt.

Two days later, Silas told her that they would attend both Petunia and Melrick's funerals. Petunia's would be held at the end of the week and Melrick's would be the day after. Silas paid for everything. It was his way of expressing his condolences to their weeping families.

The following day, Cecilia was cleared of suspicion.

After the funerals, she would be going back to Central City. She was asked to say goodbye to everyone she learned to care for before the time was out, but Cecilia didn't know where to start.

She felt so ashamed that she didn't want to show her face to anyone.

* * *

 **xl** : The next update will be on Halloween. The poll is still going on and Firestarter is in second place, do vote if you haven't already so that you will receive your update. Remember, only the top three stories with the most votes will be updated. The poll ends at 11:59 PST today, Oct 21.

I can't guarantee any updates for November, so it will literally be the last chance to get an update. School is getting super intense. I'm going to die. Pray for me. I'll be back in December. I hope. So, fret not, I'm not going to abandon y'all for ever.

Thank you **starrat** and **Kajakitty** for reviewing the previous chapter. Thank you everyone for reading.


	20. Afterthought

**Chapter 20** : Afterthought

Cecilia finished having breakfast with Clementine and Joseph moments ago; the two were staying in the Polaris Hotel after some insistence on her behalf. Joseph left for school and Clementine went shopping for groceries leaving Cecilia alone in her table enjoying her third coffee refill as she reread the article that reported the fires at the newspaper office and her apartment complex. It talked in approximations and highlighted the consequences—the buildings' worth, the number of people that lost their homes (and the cost of their belongings in the form of a seemingly farfetched estimate), the number of people that were wounded in the fire, some witness' quotes detailing the incident, and the casualties. It was direct and finished by saying that an investigation was being run by the military police, though no new details had been released.

"Hey."

She looked up to see Roy standing with his hand on the back of the chair next to hers. "You're not here to interrogate me, are you?"

"May I sit?" he asked, and she gestured him to do so, setting her newspaper aside as he did.

"I didn't think you made house calls."

"I'm not here to interrogate you."

"Good," she said, relieved. "Do you want coffee? It's not as great as mine, but it's decent."

"Sure."

Cecilia called over her waitress and ordered another cup of coffee for Roy. "So, what brings you all the way out here?"

"I wanted to see that you were doing fine," he answered. The young server appeared with another cup of coffee that she set down in front of Roy, who smiled at her charmingly and made her blush. She stuttered a soft "your welcome" after Roy thanked her and went on her way to a small crowd of coworkers huddled together giggling.

"How cute," said Cecilia, bringing her cut to her lips to drink, "You're popular."

"A handsome gentleman like me? Did you ever have a doubt?"

She rolled her eyes.

"If you were less abrasive, you could be cuter."

She scoffed. "Less abrasive?"

"The sarcasm isn't cute either."

"The last thing I want is to be considered cute by your inferior standards," said Cecilia, returning her coffee to the table.

He laughed. "But I do consider you attractive. Did you not just insult yourself?"

Cecilia choked, coughing into her napkin. He only laughed more, satisfied by the reaction.

"What do you want, Roy? You didn't come here to hit on me, so spill it."

"As I said, I wanted to see that you were okay," he repeated, at her quizzical and unconvinced stare, he added, "I'm serious."

"Well, as you can see, I'm doing fine," she answered. "Thank you for the concern."

He drank from his coffee, his eyes on her. "What do you plan to do?"

"About what?"

"You don't have a place to work and you're living in a hotel."

"Well, I always wanted to be a hostess," she joked. "I could even take extra money for any backroom proposals I receive and appeal to masochistic men."

"I think there are a number of other occupations that you could be good for with your skillset," he said, smiling against his cup.

"What skillset?"

"You're crafty—"

"Oh yeah because every woman in the world wants to be called crafty."

"—you have connections."

"My father has connections."

"Which you have access to," he continued as if he were checking all of the things from a list. "You are resourceful."

"And what do you base that wonderful observation on?"

"Your coworkers are a good source of information, as are you, according to them."

"Fascinating," she said, acting impressed. "You are still stalking me."

"I'm not stalking you! I was doing my job!"

"Someone of your rank checking up on little old me? Is the military really lacking in personnel?"

"You're paying too much attention to the little details you should be ignoring."

"You just don't want to be made out to be a creep."

"Again, I was only doing my job."

"Okay, let's go with that."

"You should consider joining the military—"

"Nope."

"Think about it, Ceci—"

"Oona," she corrected.

"Think about it, Oona, you're cunning and know your way around a lie, you have connections, you're resourceful, and you have medical training. I think you could become a great asset to me."

"Now you want me to work with you?"

"Why else would I propose this to you if I had no intention of making sure you were assigned under me? I need someone like you."

"Or maybe you just want someone you could have sex with in the office," she remarked teasingly.

"This isn't a joke, Oona," he emphasized, his hand fisted on the table. "I'm serious."

Cecilia would never consider it. Working for the military was hiding in plain sight and leaving it to her good fortune—of which she had none—to ensure a peaceful career until her retirement. That and she didn't have a good relationship with authority and boot camp alone sounded like it'd be a nightmare for both herself and her instructors. Silas and Wyatt would also be against it.

"No," she said, as equally firm as he was with her. He appeared genuinely disappointed by her response as he sat back in his seat and expelled a breath, conceding to the finality of her tone. "I won't join the military, ever, but I do believe I owe you a favor."

"For what?"

"For letting me stay in your house."

"You don't need to repay—"

"Look," she interrupted, "if there is ever anything I could do for you, I'll do it, given that you ask me nicely and that you catch me in a good mood."

"There's always a catch with you, isn't there?"

"I don't like freebies and I don't like owing anyone anything, so yes, you could say there will be."

"It could be anything?"

"Yes, anything."

"I'll want more favors then," he told her.

She smiled. "More favors is a bit..."

"You did say anything. So I want more favors. A million of them to be exact."

"A million?"

"I can go for a billion."

"Two favors," she said, "at the most."

"A million," he continued stubbornly.

"Three. That's as high as I'll go."

"Okay, a billion," Roy decided. "Enjoy whatever privacy you have left—"

"Fine! A million," she stated, humoring him. "If it'll get you off my back, a million."

"Are you sure? A billion is just a more well-rounded number."

"No, a million will do," she said, leaning over the table, "but it does feel that I am losing out on a lot of personal time. What do I get in return for handing you a million favors to you?"

"Anything that you want," he replied, "I think it's only fair."

"I want a few rules to apply to your million favors," she told him. "First, don't use my real name. Next, don't make me do the impossible. If I say no, don't insist. I don't like dangerous situations, so if we could avoid putting me in them, that would be great. My father can't find out about these _favors_. My grandfather can't be involved. If the favor includes answering something truthfully, I get to put it off for later if I don't want to answer. Also, we keep this rule thing open for new additions."

"Great," he said cheerfully. "So, does that mean you'll tell me your real name?"

"It's Oona Marshall."

" _Real_ name, Oona."

Cecilia stared at him with narrowed eyes, changing the subject, "So, what is this really about?"

"Nothing yet."

"Hmm." Cecilia reached into her purse and left her waitress a tip. "Well, thanks for keeping me company. I have a few errands to run before afternoon, so I'm leaving. Goodbye."

Roy stood up as she did.

"You never answered my question?"

"When do I ever answer your questions on the first ask?"

"Are you going to keep staying in this hotel?"

"Temporarily," she said, "I haven't decided whether I'm going to fight with my dad about returning to Central City."

"Do you plan to finish your license?"

"That appears to be his plan."

"Appears? His? Your father's?"

"Yeah."

"Miss Marshall, your car is waiting outside." She turned to the receptionist at the front desk and nodded.

"Well, I'm going. If you need to contact me, I'm in the second suite. Just call the hotel."

He nodded. "Goodbye, Oona."

Cecilia took her newspaper from the table and looked at Roy one last time before leaving. She felt like she could've kissed him, but had to remind herself of everything that could be wrong was wrong with them.

"Bye Mustang."

Smiling silently to herself after she turned her back on him, she partly hated herself for agreeing to a million favors, but…perhaps, it wouldn't be that bad. She didn't truly believe he would cash in every favor of course, but she was curious to know why he wanted them in the first place, from her of all people. He could find someone else, better at all the things he listed to her, already working in the military. Why her?

They didn't trust each other enough to aspire for a functioning romance and he thought they could handle this. Preposterous, but interesting.

* * *

 **xl** : Happy Halloween!

In the end, Firestarter tied for 1st, so thank you very much to those that voted.

Also, do check out my profile for some important announcements.

Cecilia, he is going to want all million of those favors. What have you done?

Thank you **Guest** , **starrat** , **Kimono Kay** , and **GreenOnBlack** for your reviews last chapter. Thank y'all for reading!


	21. A Worthless Life

**Chapter 21** : A Worthless Life

Attending Petunia and Melrick's funerals was like taking repeated punches to the gut, it felt like cold steel piercing her abdomen and digging deep. Watching their families and friends torn by their horrible demises made her want to disappear. If her life were worth more than theirs could ever possibly measure, she would give back theirs, but the world did not work in miracles.

She couldn't comfort those hurt by the loss of Melrick and Petunia. She offered her condolences, though it didn't feel as if it were enough. Barbara and her aunt held each other, comforting one another with the memories they had of Melrick. Petunia's family quietly expressed their gratitude to all the people in attendance, but did little talking in the gathering held afterward in Silas' townhouse within the city. Everyone was cramped in the living room. Little room was available for movement to and from the area and to widen the small gaps, a few people stood outside of the doors.

Silas raised a flute of champagne. "This has been a most unfortunate loss that fate has dealt us," he started, his voice full of regret. "Melrick Walker was an old friend whom I entrusted with my newspaper here in East City. I remember he didn't want to take the position at first, but I insisted until he said yes. He was an intelligent, courageous man that loved his family very much. He believed in writing the truth and I admired him for it." He looked to Petunia's family. "Petunia Grant was a spectacular girl. She was joy. She was a hard worker. She was easy to love and reliable. She will be missed. Let us have a toast to their lives."

Everyone raised their glasses and drank after being prompted.

Cecilia wandered through the crowd avoiding Melrick's wife, Barbara, and Petunia's family because she didn't feel she deserved to talk to them. If she said anything to them, she feared that she would tell them the truth—that she was positive that they died because of her.

As she walked between a few groups chatting, she noticed Barbara and her aunt had approached Silas. She listened to their conversation, but only because her path had been blocked.

"Mr. Marshall," started Melrick's wife, "we heard your daughter tried to save Melrick. We wondered if she was around. We wanted to thank her for trying."

Cecilia's heart sped anxiously.

"We know what state he was found and that he was barely alive," said Barbara, holding her aunt close. "We know that no amount any one could have done would have made a difference, but we are grateful she tried."

Silas smiled. "Oona regrets not being able to save him."

"Please tell her that we appreciate what she did and that she shouldn't feel any regret," said Melrick's wife.

Cecilia managed to get through to the hallway outside of the living room with plans of going upstairs to sit down in her room, away from everyone, but she ran into Peter Grant on his way back in. Her heart skipped a beat in dread. He looked miserable.

She couldn't stand not saying anything when she looked at his face. "I'm so sorry."

He tried to smile, but his sadness overpowered his ability to act strong. "You don't need to apologize for anything, Miss Warren."

She lowered her gaze. "But I do," she told him. "I was the reason Petunia was in my apartment when she was…killed. If I hadn't asked her to go, she wouldn't have had a—"

Peter raised his hand to stop her from finishing. "There's no need for you to feel any guilt," he said. "It could've happen to anyone."

"They were waiting for me."

"It was an unfortunate incident," he said. "Excuse me."

Peter started to walk back into the living room.

"Why aren't you angry with me?" she snapped, turning to face him. She was so loud, her voice carried over to a few others that looked in their direction.

He stopped and said, "I don't have the energy or a reason to be mad with you. I just want to say goodbye to my wife."

Cecilia apologized to him once more. This time, she said it because she made an ass of herself by making the moment about her. The conversation she conjured in her mind for them to have and the contempt that he was supposed to express towards her should've been left for later.

She went upstairs to the guest room where she was staying temporarily (until she could return to the hotel). She dove into bed and closed her eyes. She felt tears forming behind her lids and they reminded her of how much she hated vulnerability. She had been nothing but since the tragedies.

It wasn't like her. She felt like a stranger had taken control of her body.

Cecilia drifted into calm sleep and woke after everyone had gone away to the sudden weight on her bed. She opened her eyes and rubbed them, looking up at Silas' face.

"How are you feeling?" he asked quietly, reaching to touch the side of her head. "Can I do anything for you?"

"I don't want to do anything," she said, "I just want to sleep."

"Sleep as much as you want." Silas leaned down to kiss her head. "Goodnight."

"Silas?" she called, feeling him move.

He sank back down in his seat. "Yeah?"

"Do you know who did it?" she asked. "Who killed Melrick and Petunia?"

"No," he told her. "I don't. But I don't think it was _him_."

Cecilia sat up, sliding back into the pillows. "Why?"

"The last thing I want to do is worry you, so we should probably not discuss this," he suggested.

"I need to know."

Silas didn't say anything.

"Silas, you have to tell me. I order you to tell me."

He exhaled. "This wasn't like what happened to you in Central City. Attempts against you are very _personal_ affairs—they want you to suffer for what you did and they give you injuries to ensure that you agonize long enough for you to repent for your crime. These were different. Petunia was shot once and died instantly. Melrick had his throat slit. That had been the first blow he received, meaning they wanted him to bleed out instantly. The other cuts that he had were strategic in that they severed larger arteries to quicken his death. I thought you would've noticed when you tried to save him."

She completely overlooked all of that, her mind scrambled. "What does this mean?"

Silas shook his head. "I don't know."

"Do you think it could have been my article?"

"It _was_ pushing it, but I can't think of anyone that would find that the least bit threatening. I figured you'd be ridiculed and called crazy, but this was too far." Silas patted her shoulder before standing. "Let me worry about it. I want you to continue focusing on living a normal life."

"A temporary life," she corrected.

"Only until you can return home."

She covered her face with her arm. What was left there if everyone was trying to kill her?

"Get some sleep now."

Silas unfolded the blanket at the end of the bed and draped it over her legs. "We are leaving to Central City tomorrow afternoon."

"I want to stay here," she told him.

"You would be safer with me."

"I want to say goodbye to everyone," she told him. "I don't want to disappear on my friends."

"That is so kind of you," he said sarcastically.

"I have to say goodbye to them," she said firmly. "I don't want to kill Cecilia Warren off so quickly." She had connections with people that she would need to sever and it scared her to do it. She'd never gone through this before.

"Very well, I'll give you a week to wrap things up."

"I might need more than that."

"Fine," he said, "One week minimum and four weeks maximum. I'll bring you back if you are not home by that stipulated time."

"I can do with a month."

Silas headed for the door where he paused, his hand on the knob. "I'm sorry too."

Cecilia sank down in the bed and pulled up her blanket. "For what?"

"For being cruel about Melrick and Petunia's deaths. They're not expendable lives."

"I'm sorry too," she told him. "I didn't mean it when I said I hated you. I was just upset. I understand why you protect me so much and I appreciate it. I wouldn't have lived for as long as I have if it hadn't been for you."

"I have no other purpose in this life, but to protect you. Excuse me."

Silas left the guest room. Cecilia stayed awake for quite some time before falling asleep again.

* * *

 **xl** : Okay, I am technically still on break, but I figured that I'd rather post the next 3 chapters to reach the point where I last left off. So that when I come back from my hiatus, I can post new chapters that my livejournal readers - who read this story first - can pick up where they last left off. (I had this on LJ before I moved it here.)

So, enjoy. Please tell me what you think...

Thank you for reading.

Thank you **starrat** , **GreenOnBlack** , and **KimonoKay** for your reviews!


	22. An Invitation

**Chapter 22** : An Invitation

"I think it's adorable and all that you get on so well with your old military buddies, but why do I have to celebrate the Fuhrer's birthday?" asked Cecilia, waving around the invitation in her hand as she spoke into the phone to Silas.

"You should be glad that my talks about you impressed them so much that you were deemed worthy of an invitation," answered Silas nonchalantly.

"This isn't exactly an ideal setting for me."

"Think about it like this," started Silas, "You're a foreign diplomat invited as a courtesy."

"That isn't even funny."

"In short, take advantage of the opportunity to start building your own connections. If everything goes down the way I want it, you'll need them."

"I thought that was your job."

"It is, but you're an adult and you should be able to do everything that I can. I don't want to die in some freak accident and not feel confident that you'll make it out all right." Silas sighed deeply. "We need to take necessary precautions, you know this."

"I do."

"Very well, I'll see you there."

"Do I have to go?"

"You weren't raised to be rude, so yes, you do have to go. Unless you're involved in some freak accident that incapacitates you for the evening, you don't get a pass."

"Fine."

"Goodbye, Oona."

"Bye."

She hung up the phone. She looked at the invitation one last time before stuffing it inside the top drawer of her dresser.

Earlier that week, she moved out of the Polaris Hotel because she hated not being able to prepare her own meals. She took out a one-month lease on a smaller apartment in the opposite side of the city from where her first apartment building was located. It was fully furnished and cheaper than her last apartment. She paid up front and bought only what she needed. She didn't want to have to pack too many bags when she returned home. Thanks to the fire, she didn't have to worry too much about that, but she lost a lot of things that she liked.

She also found a job at her favorite café, the Hot Pot Brew. She didn't want to keep waiting for Silas' money to transfer into her account. Honestly, she preferred not to take the money he gave her unless it was an emergency.

Cecilia dressed comfortably and went in to work. Lana was standing behind the counter cleaning while Margot, the shop's manager, brought out a tray of freshly baked bread to stock the glass counters at front. Cecilia fixed her name tag above her right breast and tied on the black customary apron around her waist as she greeted everyone.

The job was offered to her when she had a run-in with one of the owners and mentioned her situation (with the newspaper burning down and all). She worked part time and made enough to get by, which was all she really needed given her imminent move. Today, she worked until closing.

"And you're sure that you're okay with it?" asked Margot, her black hair was braided neatly down her back. It was dark out. The shop would close in another hour. "I can stay behind if you'd like."

Cecilia was wiping down one of the square tables. "It's pretty dead already, it won't be a problem, I promise."

"Are you sure?" she pressed.

"You've stayed longer than you needed. I promise I'll be fine."

Margot nodded. "Okay. Here are the keys. I've already double-checked inventory, so you don't have to worry about any of it. I'll see you on Friday."

"See you."

Margot left the keys on the table and she pocketed them. At around ten minutes after she was gone, the bell strung above the door jingled welcoming a couple.

"Good evening."

She recognized that voice, though she felt she'd only heard it once. Looking up, she was a little surprised to see Roy's friend standing across the counter with a pretty woman at his side. If she remembered correctly, his name was Maes Hughes.

"Oh?" He made a sound in recognition. "Cecilia Warren?" He turned to the shorthaired woman at his side. "Honey, this is a friend of Roy's. We met in the library several weeks ago, her name's Cecilia."

Cecilia smiled. "I'm just an acquaintance."

"Don't sell yourself short," said Hughes, then proudly gestured to the woman to his right. "This is my wife, Gracia."

"Nice to meet you, Cecilia," said Gracia.

"Nice to meet you." She suddenly remembered where she was and snapped out of crazy ideas like running away. "Can I get you anything? The kitchen is closed, but I can make anything off the menu for you."

"We wouldn't want to be a bother," said Gracia. "You were about to close, so we just came in for some bread."

"No, that's fine. Please, order as much as you'd like," she insisted.

Cecilia went into the kitchen and prepared food for her final guests. She brought out their orders, setting a plate in front of each, and returned to the kitchen to wash the dishes she used. She asked them to call for her if they needed anything else.

After the dishes were done and she finished going through a list of things required before closing, she sat at the counter in front of the register and watched Hughes and his wife, finding herself smiling. There was something quite magical about them. The love between them was palpable. The way they looked at one another was like something straight out of a romance novel about soulmates.

She always wanted that. To be loved and to love. She wouldn't, though. The only thing she'd ever think to aspire for in that front was a political marriage.

Maes and Gracia were nice to look at, but it depressed her to realize how jealous she felt in seeing them. She distracted herself by going through the inventory again until they called for her by the front desk with all of their plates.

She took them, embarrassed. "You didn't have to clean up after yourselves. It's what I'm here for."

Gracia thanked her and patted Maes on the arm, saying that she'll be out front waiting for him. He nodded, saying he wouldn't be long. He handed her more cenz than he owed and she tried pushing them back into his hands, but he refused, insisting to pay for making her cook. He eventually got his way. She knew he wouldn't be giving up.

"Mind if I ask you a question?" asked Cecilia.

"If it's about Roy, ask away."

"Why do you assume that it's about him?"

"Why would I not? You won't ask after him, will you?"

She laughed. That was very observant of him. "No, I wouldn't," she said, "but that's only because I'm not interested in him that way."

"Are you sure?"

"Yes."

"Fine, what's the question?"

"Do normal officers, say you or Mustang for example, receive invitations to…let's say, the Fuhrer's birthday?" she asked.

"So, it was about Roy after all?" He grinned from ear to ear and she felt her face grow hot. That was a stupid question to ask. "Well, it depends."

"Oh, okay."

"Does that mean you were invited to the upcoming celebration by an officer?" asked Maes.

"No, I was just invited."

"If you are looking for someone, I suggest R—"

"You are seriously convinced there is something happening between us, aren't you?"

"Convinced? I know." Maes laughed heartily. "It was nice seeing you again, Miss Warren. Thank you for the meal."

Maes went to Gracia at the door. They both waved at her as they left. Outside, she could see them through the window, laughing with one another.

Cecilia grabbed the keys to the establishment and turned off all the lights. She closed the shop a few minutes earlier. She walked home and picked up the invitation she had received for the Fuhrer's birthday, wondering if she should use her plus one.

Friday came with the unfortunate realization that her roots were coming in. They had been for the last couple of weeks, but she'd been too busy to do anything about them and she didn't think much of them because they weren't very noticeable. At about an inch long now, one could easily see the contrast between her natural color and the fake one, but she couldn't be bothered to do something about it now either.

She made plans to go out drinking yesterday with a friend of a friend while she was still giving Barbara space. She didn't care about actually dating, but she accepted because if he turned out to be decent, she could take him home and sleep with him.

Cecilia dressed nicely and tied up her hair. It hadn't finished drying completely since she bathed earlier, so it was a little damp. She picked up her purse from her bed and stared at herself one last time in the mirror. She wore a mustard yellow, high waist skirt with a silk, polka dotted button down shirt with long sleeves, and a pair of short boots. She picked up her jacket on her way out of her apartment and tugged it on as she headed to the stairs.

She took the bus to the establishment and barely made it in time.

Cecilia walked into a semi-packed bar and restaurant lively with the sound of several noises and searched the room of evenly spaced out tables surrounding the long bar, with its collection of liquor and wine bottles sparkling behind the three bartenders mixing drinks for the customers sitting upfront on the row of barstools. She saw servers walking in and out of the kitchen through a door next to the bar, peering inside she caught a glimpse of several cooks in white uniforms working hard.

A man with reddish brown hair appeared beside her with a smile. "Are you Cecilia?"

"Roger?"

"Nice to meet you," he said, offering her his hand. She shook it with a smile. "I have a table over here."

She followed him to sit at a small table farther away from the bar. He pulled out her chair for her to sit before taking his seat. As they exchanged pleasantries, a server appeared to take their order. She asked for cranberry juice because she wasn't feeling too inclined to order anything off the menu from a place that she nothing about. He, on the other hand, ordered alcohol and a hamburger with fries.

"Are you sure you don't want to order any food?" asked Roger.

"For now," she answered.

Roger was an average-looking man with glasses and a weak jaw. She sat back as she chatted casually with him and stared at him, taking in every one of his features and mannerisms. He seemed nice and interested in her. His disposition was cheerful. His hands were large, which she liked, and his build was above average, a little on the bulky side which was something that she considered a charm point.

This could work.

Cecilia leaned forward as they moved past the small inquiry stage and felt it was a good moment to make a proposal to him, especially now that he was finished eating.

"Hey, why don't we take the evening back to your apartment?" she asked, smiling flirtatiously at him. "It would be much more entertaining than being stuck here where we have to…limit our contact."

Slowly, she dropped her hand over his, running her fingertips over his wrist. He jerked his hand away and laughed sheepishly.

"I think you're mistaken," he told her, "but you—and you'll forgive me for being blunt—are not my type."

She felt incredibly stupid. "Oh."

"You're beautiful, but—"

" _Wow_ , thanks," she interrupted, standing up.

"Oh, you don't have to go. You're a very interesting person—"

Roger got out of his seat to block her path out. She stepped up to him, looking around at her surroundings briefly. Everyone was too busy minding their business to eavesdrop on their conversation.

"That's great and all, but I'm not interested in listening to you any further," she told him. "I came here to fuck someone and if I'm not your type, I'm going to look elsewhere. Thanks for the juice, Roger. I'm going to get a real drink now."

Cecilia grabbed her jacket from the back of her chair and stormed out of the bar. Roger followed her as far as the front of the establishment and called to her, but she didn't stop or turn around.

She ended up at one of her usual haunts—the one where she first met Roy to be exact—and up at the bar where she ordered five shots of the strongest liquor. She drank and drank until she had grown tipsy and her earlier rejection was nothing but a part of the past. She found a good man that was doing his best to pick her up and take her home. She toyed with him as she flirted with him, keeping him interested until she wanted to go home.

Whenever her friend, the bartender, had a chance, he came to speak with her.

"My uncle told me you moved recently," he mentioned, mixing her another drink. "Where are you at now?"

She talked to him all about her apartment as he poured her order into a tall glass and made her a gesture to her right as someone took the seat before handing her the drink.

"Can I get you anything?" he asked the new patron.

"Just a beer."

Cecilia turned and found Roy smiling at her.

"Hey," he greeted.

"Yo, Mustang, stalking me again?"

"Stop bringing that up!" He realized he was loud, looked around at the few that did hear him and lowered his voice to continue, "I didn't stalk you."

The bartender returned to drop off a tankard of beer for Roy. "One beer, enjoy."

"Thanks." Roy stared at her. "You know, I always thought you had better taste. Meaning me, by the way, I can see how drunk you are, but I didn't think that lowered your standards."

She scoffed. She leaned forward and lowered her voice to speak. "I doubt you would care as long as you had some woman worshiping your dick for the night. I'm the same."

"Why, Cecilia, I wasn't aware you had a dick." He moved forward. "You are Cecilia, today, aren't you?"

She pushed his face away from her gently, laughing. "Stop being a smartass."

"But it made you laugh."

Cecilia pressed her shoulder to his. "I could be that woman for you if you'd like."

"You're drunk, Cecilia."

"It hasn't bothered you before, Mustang?"

"Which is why I made it a rule to steer clear of your kind."

"Does that make me the exception?"

"It's adorable that you think so highly of yourself."

"You wouldn't think of refusing me if I were in the middle of seducing you." She took a sip of her sweetened drink and smiled at him, seeing his cheeks heat up as he frowned. "Did I just make you blush, Mustang? I'm impressed."

"I'm not blushing," he denied, though it had become that much more obvious.

She called over the bartender and asked for more shots. She shared them with Roy.

"Drink up."

 **Completed** : 2/6/16

 **Edited** : 5/20/16


	23. Many Lives

**Chapter 23** : Many Lives

Cecilia was temporarily blinded by sunlight when she opened her eyes. She rubbed them until her clouded vision cleared and her heart skipped a beat. Lying beside her with the bottom of his face hidden behind the pillow he hugged close to his chest was Roy. She looked around, determining that they were in her apartment and fully dressed underneath her coverlet.

She got out of bed to pull the drapes close and shut out the sun. She stepped out quietly to pee and brushed her teeth. She stared at her tired face as she grew accustomed to the dull ache in her head from the hangover and saw her makeup was running a little, so she washed it off.

She took out her pitcher of water from the refrigerator and returned to her bedroom with two glasses in hand. She set it down next to the nightstand and poured herself some water to clear out the dryness of her throat.

Once that was done, she sank down beside Roy, facing him as he remained dormant. She didn't remember anything from last night. Not long after he had joined her in conversation, everything went dark. She drank until she blacked out and the reason seemed so petty now.

She sighed, feeling disappointed.

However, none of that explained why Roy was sleeping next to her. She reached out to touch his face and felt him stir. He frowned, his eyebrows knit together formed two wrinkles between them that she had unconsciously grown fond of, and buried his face further into the pillow. A soft groan escaped him. It was barely audible to her ears though she was lying so close.

She inched closer to him and brought the top of the pillow down, leaning forward to kiss his exposed cheek.

"Cecilia, hm," he groaned, opening his eyes to narrow slits.

Cecilia raised herself up on her elbow and kissed his cheek, moving down to his lips. When she pressed her mouth to his, his hand moved up to rest next to her cheek, guiding her into a slow, dizzying kiss. He turned his head, reaching between him to discard the pillow standing between them, and deepened the kiss.

He pushed her down and climbed her, his legs straddling one of hers. She could feel his erection through his pants and it excited her. He pulled away, grinning down at her.

"You shouldn't be waking people up like this, they'll get used to it."

Her breathing was a little erratic after that kiss, but she mirrored his proud smile. "What can I say? I like keeping things fresh."

"Yeah?"

"Yeah," she said, wrapping her arms around him and pulling him into a demanding kiss. He ground his hips against her, making her ache with desire, and she moaned into his mouth. He left her lips to kiss her neck, limiting himself to touch her arms, hands, legs, hips, and waist, never her more intimate areas. She spoke breathlessly into his ear, asking, "Can we...?"

"Can we what?"

"Have sex?"

"We can."

"Now. Please. I want to feel you inside of me," she pleaded, purposely upping her ante to prove that she could seduce him. If Roy was in her bed, she wanted to take advantage of it.

Roy slid his hand under her skirt and ran it up her thigh. "Cute skirt," he said against her mouth. "Take it off. Take everything off and get on top of me. I want to taste you."

She shivered as she lifted herself up to get rid of her clothes. He moved back to sit on his haunches and started to undo his pants after removing his shirt, revealing his erect penis to her. He lied down on his back and waited for her to finish undressing to guide her in the position that he wanted her. With her legs sitting on either side of his face and his mouth underneath her, parting the folds of her vulva, Cecilia's cheeks reddened when his hot breath hit her sensitive skin. She couldn't suppress her pleasure, not with the light, teasing touching he was doing.

Nipping and kissing her inner thighs, she trembled violently. "I'll take care of you," he told her, "so take care of me."

Cecilia leaned forward and took his dick into her hand, starting to move it up and down with a tight grip, but when his tongue ran against her entrance, she froze. She shuddered and moaned at the same time, loosening her grip on his shaft.

"Don't get distracted," he advised, kissing her so intimately that it was hard not to.

God. Her legs were shaking in anticipation of his next kiss.

Cecilia met his challenge and drew the sensitive crown of his penis into her mouth, sucking it and licking it as she pumped her hand up and down his length. She made him moan against her and the vibrations of his voice made her knees weak. It felt amazing.

She took in his shaft, bobbing up and down. She pulled him in as deep as she could before returning to lick the head. His mouth grew hungrier against her. He fucked her with his tongue and played with her clit. It was impossible for her to do much other than hold his cock in her hand because her body was growing weak as her need to orgasm was on the rise; the pleasure that coursed through her body was like an electric current and he was in complete control of it. Her body temperature went up and beads of sweat formed across her naked form.

She moved her hips, encouraging him with breathy monosyllabic words mixed together with his name. She wouldn't hold on for much longer, but she did return his cock to her mouth, sucking it with more fervor as she neared her climax. She wanted to make him feel as good as she was. She loved to hear his pleasured sounds mingling in the air with hers. She enjoyed the heat of his cock in her hands and mouth.

Cecilia came with an intensity that left her wanting to savor the feeling wash over her body, her skin tingled both hot and cold. He lapped up her juices and started to kiss her inner thigh. She raised her head and took his cock back in her mouth. She happily returned the favor. She sucked and teased him until she brought him to orgasm.

She climbed off him to lie down beside him. He wrapped his arm around her shoulders and pulled her up towards him. He kissed her mouth, turning his body to face hers, and reached to pull her leg up over his hip. As he deepened the kiss, he pushed inside of her.

Cecilia moaned into his mouth. She draped her arm around him, slinking her fingers into his hair. He held her flush against him, her body molded to his with one hand pressed to her lower back to keep her in place. He moved his hips to push up inside of her, his kiss slowing to match the rhythm of his hips. He tasted the inside of her mouth, entangling his tongue with hers.

His reach was deep. He hit all the right places. He filled her with more pleasure than she'd experienced.

She felt warm in his arms. This was different from all of their previous encounters. He was gentle, but strong. He touched her chest, rolling her nipple between his thumb and forefinger, and kissed down the side of her face to her neck. He buried his face there, kissing and sucking on her flesh as they rocked together.

She groaned, gripping his hair. "Yes," she uttered. He thrusted into her deep and her body arched. His hand moved from her lower back to her ass, gripping it "Yes! There!"

"Where?" he asked teasingly, pulling out of her before plunging in, hitting her in the exact spot she asked. "There?"

"Yeah," she said breathily, "There, Mustang. More, harder."

Roy continued to hit the same place, measuring how well she felt by the heightening of her voice. The louder her moans grew, the faster he moved until she was on the brink of release. She trembled in his arms, begging him to help her orgasm. He whispered in her ear, kissed it, drew her lobe into his mouth and licked it until she melted in his arms. She let out strange shuddering moans that flit through her like electricity, heat pooling at the pit of her stomach. Her vaginal walls clamped as the friction between their rocking bodies rubbed her clit with the right amount of pressure.

He kissed her as she started to orgasm, silencing her pleasured moans. As the tremors ran through her body, she felt him come, hot like a brand inside of her. He groaned against her skin, shaking in her arms. His body was slick with sweat like hers. He was short of breath as he slipped out of her and tucked her hair behind her ear.

Cecilia looked at Roy and he stared at her, their eyes locked. The atmosphere between them was sweet. She cracked a smile first and he mirrored it, laughing before she joined him.

This was different. Like that kiss that broke apart their arrangement. It scared her, but she didn't want to say anything about it because she was afraid it would dissolve in another harmful clash between them. She didn't want to fight. She wanted to linger in this nice feeling for as long as she could.

"I'm hungry," she announced, "Could I interest you in some breakfast?"

"Yes."

Cecilia sat up and climbed over him to get out of bed.

"Do you mind if I use your shower?"

"Go ahead, it's down the hall to your left," she instructed. She picked up her silk robe and tugged it on. "Do you have anything to wear? I could go out and get you something."

"I have a change of clothes in my car," he told her.

"Oooh, did you have plans to sleepover someone's house?"

"It's just a coincidence. Think nothing of it."

"I bet the ladies want you to use their baths all the time," she teased, tying her robe shut.

"What can I say? They can't resist me."

"I'll go get your clothes, so where're your keys?"

"Ah, by the front door I think or in my pocket."

Roy sat up, sliding to the edge of the bed. He scratched the back of his head and yawned. He stood up and excused himself to go to the bathroom. Cecilia took advantage of his nakedness to stare at his sculptured body. There was one thing for sure, she did not hate how athletically built military men. His ass was tight and rock hard. It was amazing.

"There should be towels in the bathroom," she informed, ripping her eyes away from his delicious back muscles.

"Thanks."

Cecilia searched his pockets until she found his keys. She left her apartment with a coat on over her robe and went downstairs, outside to his car. She found his clothes packed neatly in a bag that she brought back with her to her apartment. She dropped it off inside the bathroom, knocking before he allowed her inside. He was already standing underneath the running water looking that much more attractive.

He thanked her.

Cecilia went to the kitchen to start breakfast. She readied a simple meal using plenty of fruit and partnered it with orange juice. She made coffee as well and poured herself a cup to start her day. She sat down in front of the table and waited for Roy to join her to start eating.

Roy sat down across her after pouring himself a mug of coffee, smelling strongly of her soap. "Hughes mentioned you're working in a café. Here I was under the impression that you left like you said you would."

"That doesn't mean that I'm not leaving. I'm just wrapping things up."

"What about the new apartment?"

"I paid up front for a short lease," she said, "and the job, well, I couldn't very well go searching for another newspaper that'll let me run as many anti-Amestrian military campaigns." Not that they would hire her on her own merit. She would need Silas to set it up for her. As far as she knew, he didn't own any other newspapers, so it'd be a stretch for him too.

"For a citizen you certainly aren't proud to be one," he commented.

"I consider this an upgrade to other situations," she responded. "I don't hate it. I only hate what it reminds me of."

"And what is that?"

Cecilia brought the mug to her lips. "I don't think we should go that far."

"Are you avoiding the question?"

"Yes."

"Why?"

She set down her coffee. "Because I don't like what it reminds me of—the answer."

"We should move on," he said, "I need a favor."

That word immediately brought the invitation she had received to mind. "You can't be referring to the Fuhrer's birthday celebration, do you?"

"I imagined your father would be invited."

"And you want him to extend that invitation to you?"

"I doubt it'll be hard for someone like him to accomplish."

"Okay."

"I have another favor," he started.

"What is it?"

"I need you to be my fiancée."

Cecilia blinked, perplexed by the idea. "Any particular reason?"

"I'll explain that to you later," he assured, "but I need you to be someone else. No Cecilia or Oona. Someone completely new that won't make people doubt for even an instant that you are who you claim. And I know that you can do it."

"A lot of high ranking military men already know me as Silas' daughter. I can't just assume another identity like nothing."

"You'd be surprised how many people think Isabella Croft is his daughter." Roy held her gaze captive in his dark eyes, sparking a strange emotion to life inside of her. "You're an unknown. As both Cecilia and Oona. Silas has been hiding you for years and hiding you well. This shouldn't be hard for you. You're smart. You'll make something out of this."

"You are aware that what you're asking me to do is illegal," she reminded.

"It's not something you haven't done once or twice, more times."

Hm.

At her frown, Roy added, "If anything goes wrong, I'll cover for you, say you're helping me with a case."

"Fine."

She supposed she appreciated the compliment, but this was going to require uprooting her life as Cecilia Warren faster than she anticipated. It would mean moving to a different area completely and avoiding contact with those she previously engaged as her current self. It'd be easier if she'd move to a completely different part of Amestris because it was easier for her to start her life over again. This was a perplexing request to her. She understood why it needed to be her, especially if Roy was looking to suck up to the brass for a promotion, if that was even what he was looking for. However, she didn't understand why it had to be her specifically when there were bigger idiots among the daughters of well-connected military men that would fall for Roy's shtick.

At the same time, she saw a benefit in agreeing to do the job after what Silas said about building her own connections. Among the elite, she would be able to learn more about the things that Silas never told her. She could find out about the fire in her apartment building and the fire at the newspaper. After Silas came back with Petunia's autopsy report, revealing that she had been shot through the head, it stopped being about the usual agents being after her and more of an unknown force. Melrick's murder, which had been so bloody, was nothing like them either.

The people that were hunting her were specific about the way they wanted to kill her—looking into her eyes as they gutted her. At that thought, the faded scar on her abdomen ached. The dark memory surfaced to offer her a glimpse of the pale face that sought to be the last she saw.

She'd have to work out the details with Silas if she planned to be involved. He did have a point in saying that while she was his daughter in name, she never attended any of the fancy gatherings that he was invited to, which limited her exposure and he didn't bring her up in conversation unless it was to brag about how much he loved her, other than that, he avoided talking about her in greater depth, only making sure that people were aware that he had a daughter.

"My father'll be involved. You should be prepared to deal with him."

Roy grimaced. "I figured."

"I'll try to keep him out of it as much as I can, but he'll try to stay as involved as possible."

"You'll need to get an invitation for Hughes as well."

"Now, you're pushing it."

"Just find a way."

Cecilia got out of her seat and walked to his side, running her fingers over his shoulders as she leaned up against him. "Fine, I'll do it, but you have to think of the story and a new identity, I'll take care of the rest," she said, drawing her hand up to his damp hair. "Also, have your friend's wife meet me at the perfume boutique on west in two days' time."

"What do you need Gracia for?" he asked.

"We're going to make an impression on Mrs. Bradley that'll get us both invited."

"How do you know Mrs. Bradley will be there?"

"Because I know how to get people places."

He grinned. "Well, I'll look forward to seeing results."

"You have to provide the ring for our engagement and it better be huge. I don't care where you get it or if it's fake. It just has to look real."

"Sure."

"Good."

Roy pulled her down to sit on his lap and kissed her. "You should stay with me until the day of the party."

"I'll consider it," she said, pressing her mouth to his again.

"I'll come by to pick you up tonight and propose," he said, rubbing her thigh. "Pack a bag."

 **Completed** : 2/7/16


	24. One Step Closer

**Chapter 24** : One Step Closer

Roy wondered if she realized how desperate he had felt to touch her the way he had that morning. He'd thought about it continuously despite arguing that they were an incompatible mess that'd only been good at satisfying one another's carnal desires. She'd never stop lying to him. He'd wanted to avoid committed involvement with a person because it'd be a hindrance if he possessed such an exploitable weakness.

That thought had ruined his afternoon. His subconscious had conjured up an idea that he had not been ready to accept. He loved his physical relationship with Cecilia. He thought of her in all of the positions that he had fucked her—visualized her body bare atop his when he missed her and brought himself to orgasm—and how she dressed in ways that he found incredibly sexy. She didn't always do it on purpose. Sometimes she threw things on and called it a day, but they looked incredible on her. She wore them well.

His mind shouldn't have gone further than seeing her as a woman that helped him vent his sexual frustrations. However, he couldn't help it. He wasn't able to stop his mind from running. He grew curious about getting to know her. He found himself enjoying their banter more and more. Conversations between them had grown longer and had slowly transitioning from noninvasive talks to delving deeper into their worlds, but that had blown up in their faces.

After he had confronted her about her lies, he had wanted to learn the truth.

That was the only thing he wanted. He looked at her and engaged her with a single goal in mind: getting to know her better than anyone else. That idea disconcerted him on various occasions since it surfaced in his head after the fire. Every time he spoke to her since, that had been the only thought in his mind and he wanted to push it out of his head. He succeeded because they didn't meet so often, but after he found reason to keep her in his life by using the resources he knew she possessed to further his plans for the future, he was surprised to find her willing to part with her secrets. She had only asked for one thing in return pertaining to them: that if she were not ready to speak the answers to his questions that he let her have the time it would take for it to become possible.

Roy wanted to control his desire to bed her that morning, but when she kissed him awake and asked him if they could have sex, he lost it. As he took her, pleasuring her, he kept her close; flush against his body so he could feel every breath she took into her lungs and every beat of her heart as it raced. Thinking back on it, he didn't think that was about satisfying their carnal desires. He felt a connection between them as he thrust into her slowly, growing harder each time she moaned against his lips.

She looked so lovely in his arms. Her skin flushed pink and her eyes sealed shut. She had never looked so beautiful to him.

That evening, Roy went to Cecilia's new apartment with a ring box in his pocket. It wasn't a costly thing, but it appeared expensive. For all intents and purposes, it would do its job. It was a gold band with a beautifully cut diamond in the center and before purchasing it, he imagined it on Cecilia's hand glittering as it did in the shop's display.

Cecilia welcomed him in. After she shut the door and turned back to him, he took her hand to place the velvet box in her palm. She looked down at it curiously and lifted her eyes to him, sparkling with curiosity. She opened the box and her lips split into an excited smile. She shut the box immediately and thrust it back into his hands, presenting her left hand instead.

"Now, put it on me," she said, serious.

Roy laughed, shaking his head. She was a welcoming sight after a hard work day with her uncombed hair and untidy clothes, risen from a nap he would wager. She probably only had enough time to brush her teeth when she heard him knock at her door.

He took her hand into his after removing the ring from the box, stowing that inside his pocket. He slid their fake engagement ring onto her ring finger and she watched with enthusiasm. She almost squealed as she held her hand up, looking to the glittering diamond.

"It's beautiful."

She placed her hands on his cheeks and brought him down to kiss him.

"You like it?" asked Roy.

"Yes," she answered, kissing him again. "I do. I also find that fake proposals get me all excited. We should celebrate."

Cecilia slowly guided him to the living room, pushing him down into the couch to straddle his lap. She kissed him, slow and passionately. Drew back to lick her lips and tug the shirt off, letting the soft cotton fall off the couch. His eyes were slow in taking in the sight of her, never tiring of her body, he beautiful shape of her breasts and curves of her waist. He brought her back down into another kiss and he made love to her until exhaustion.

The furniture was moved to accommodate the sheets and pillows they had thrown down to stretch their bodies. There in a mass of chaos and a wrinkled blanket she had draped over her couch, they rested. He was on his stomach with a colorful knit pillow underneath him and she was lying close to him, her naked body pressed close, resting her head on a black and white cushion. He caught her stealing glances at the ring.

"Why are you so fascinated with that ring?" asked Roy.

She hid her left hand behind her back. "Oh? Do I seem fascinated?"

"You can't deny it. I've seen you sneaking glances at it."

She smiled. "Well, it feels weird on my finger. I suppose I'm adjusting to it being there."

"No," he said quietly, observing her face, "there's more. What is it?"

He touched the side of her face and watched her contemplate her response. She moved away, lying flat on her back, and folded her hands across her naked navel.

"This isn't real, I know," she said lowly, "but there is something charming about a proposal."

"You must have had hundreds of proposals. Real ones."

"It isn't real," she said, evading the question, "but it's made me happy."

She laughed so pitifully it made his chest ache. He rose up, above her, and touched her cheek, bringing her face to his, kissing her deeply. She made him happy and the modicum of joy that lit her face was the thing that he felt he did not deserve, to see it, to be responsible for it. The tragedy he brought about with his power, the destruction and death that war in Ishval.

He felt guilty for kissing her and awkwardly returned to his previous position. She sensed the shift in the mood and gathered the felt blanket up to cover her naked body as she sat up.

"Why do you need a fake fiancée?" she asked curiously.

"All good men need a good wife," he responded smugly, appreciating the change of subject.

"Of course, but are we implying you're a good man and I'm a good woman?"

"I don't see where we deviate from the path?"

"I doubt good men do the good deeds that you do to me," she said, smiling. "Or that any good woman do the wondrous things that I do to you."

"Yes, but that means we're a perfect match," he replied, "A good man and a good woman with flaws."

"Good answer." She giggled as she rose to her feet. "I think you're trying to charm me, Mustang."

He loved her laughter. So airy and melodious in his ears. Maybe unconsciously he was. He chuckled as he sat up, playfully responding, "I think you might be right."

"I should get started with dinner." She left the blanket behind and gathered her clothes to dress. "Would you like to stay the night?"

He figured it would work for their story. It wouldn't be a terrible idea. "Sure."

Roy helped her with dinner. He put himself in her disposal and she assigned him work, mostly vegetables to cut. She asked him to pick out the wine as she waited for the meat in the oven to finish roasting.

He took a shower at her suggestion and as he shampooed his hair with her sweet-scented soap, he heard the bathroom door open, and Cecilia called out to him, "Do you mind if I join you?"

He pulled open the shower curtain for her to step inside. He took her again in the narrow stall, hoisted her body up against the tiled wall and thrust into her soft core as the water fell between them. She wrapped her arms around his neck and kissed him deeply.

Roy buried his face in her shoulder as he stirred her up. She held him in her arms and giggled between moans.

"Why are you laughing?" he asked, raising his head to look at her the instant she wiped at her eyes and realized she wasn't. She was crying. He stopped moving, taking her face in his hands.

"Don't stop, Mustang, please."

He slowed his movements and stared at her face, watched it twist in pleasure as her tears flowed same as the shower water.

Once done, Cecilia quietly washed herself and got out of the shower before him. He didn't dare bring it up when he joined her outside. She was setting the table when he approached.

Dinner was quiet. He saw a truth born that evening that as she gave, she fearfully pulled away. He wanted to grab her and hold her until she could not leave.

Cecilia slept apart from him, but moved in her sleep, nuzzling against him. He couldn't sleep, too distracted watching her sleep so soundly in his arms. He considered the possibility that asking all of this of her was a terrible idea, but he felt no regret. He couldn't.

There was emotion in him that assured him that no matter how much he denied it, something was there building between them in the quiet intervals of their interactions when they weren't. Too early to admit. Too soon to even think of it.

He gave it no name.

She suddenly jolted and called out someone's name. His heart seized for a millisecond, but he heard her say it clearly before he finished jumping to conclusions.

 _Arisha._

In the morning, as Cecilia set a mug of freshly brewed coffee in front of him and took her own mug with her to the seat across him, she said, "I hope that when this party is over and done with you cut the bullshit and tell me what you are really doing."

Roy found himself smiling, delighted that she saw through him. He supposed he could bargain with her using this. "For a price, but yes, I can promise that you will be the first to know."

"A price?" she questioned.

"An honest answer. You can ask for another question to be asked, of course. I don't want to force you."

"Fine," she said, drinking her coffee.

"I'll come by tonight to pick you up," he reminded. He wanted to combine their living arrangements for the time being. He thought that if he presented Cecilia as his fiancée, someone from outside of East City, they would be able to sell the story a little better.

"Where are we going?" she asked, confused.

"You're coming to live with me."

"What?" She set her mug down. "You were serious? Maybe you should move in with me. Your empty house isn't very charming."

"It'll grow on you."

"I promise it won't."

"I plan to introduce you to people as the fiancée I kept out of East City. We met while I was on vacation, or something like that."

She made a disapproving face. "We should just buy a house."

"The plan was to avoid making unnecessary expenses."

"Well, your plan. My plan is to buy a house and move in together with my future husband. Wouldn't that make a better excuse to bring me here? That would also show how serious you are about me. Having me live in your house for a spell and then making me go away, back to whatever cheap town you found me in so that you can continue your gallivanting in East City until you decide to make an honest man of yourself and marry me. Less frivolous. More people will take you seriously."

She wasn't wrong, but buying a house when he was still paying his mortgage was not something he could do. He couldn't sell either. He didn't understand why he was thinking about it so much.

"I can't afford it," he stated bluntly. Not after taking that expense with the ring either.

"Look, if we're going to live together, I'm buying a house."

"You don't have to go that far, Cecilia."

"Oh, I'm going there," she stated, getting out of her seat. She went to the phone and asked to be connected. "Dad."

"Why are you calling your father?" demanded Roy, jumping out of his seat. She made a gesture to him to settle back into his seat. He did and waited for her to continue her call. He did recall her saying that Silas would be involved so it shouldn't have shocked him, but to deal with him this early on over something like a house, that he didn't want.

"Wire enough money into my account to buy a house. Yeah. Well, a small house. I don't want a mansion, I'd have to hire maids and I don't want anyone in my business. No. Yeah, a townhouse. Sure, you can send a realtor. Okay." She paused. "Tomorrow is fine. Yeah. What? What for? Mustang proposed to me so we're moving in together. Okay."

She hung up and turned to him.

"What did he say?" asked Roy.

"He's coming over."

"Now?"

"You should probably go to work."

* * *

 **xl** : Surprise update because I love y'all.

I want Roy and Cecilia to do domestic shit together. No shame. Let us enjoy this fake reality while it lasts, shall we?

Many thanks to **starrat** , **GreenOnBlack** , and **Kimono Kay** for reviewing the last update.


	25. The Fear of the Father

**Chapter 25** : The Fear of the Father

Silas would be furious.

Cecilia shouldn't have agreed to assume the position of Roy's fiancée, but she couldn't stop her curiosity. Roy wouldn't use her, but she doubted him all the same. If she revealed who she was, she would know Roy's true intentions with her. It happened with Graham, the Amestrian military man that almost cost her life, and the incident could repeat with Roy.

She was blinded. That would explain her propensity for making stupid decisions around him. She almost couldn't wait for everything to come and bite her in the ass to teach her to stop repeating her mistakes.

Silas stormed into her apartment hugging his briefcase to his chest.

Cecilia jumped, dropping the pile of folded blankets she had been carrying onto the couch, and shouted, as soon as her father came into view, "I thought I took all of your copies of my house key."

He took one look at the remaining disarray of her living room where she and Roy had made their love nest last night and glared at her as he set his briefcase down.

"What are you thinking?" he demanded. "You're smarter than this! You said you would handle things! _This_ is Graham waiting to happen all over again!"

"I haven't told him anything about me," she told him once he calmed down enough to listen. That statement set him off.

"But you will! You will because you can't help it or because you want to feel closer to someone! You will because that is what you do when you're in love! You're honest and you say everything, even all of the parts that you hate to remember, you want them to know all about you, understand you, but Cai—"

"Silas!" she snapped, her heart jumping to her throat when the first syllable of her name left his lips in his heated speech. He was slipping.

Silas grabbed her by the arms and held her firmly, bearing down on her with all of his anxious fears. "We cannot trust the men in the military. You learned your lesson with Graham, or at least I believed you had. He tried to sell you out to the Fuhrer. If I had not been in the building, if I had not heard him say your name you wouldn't be standing here. You wouldn't be safe. Safe as you can be. I don't know where you'd be. You'd be used for political gain. You'd be waved in front of the Volkov family and used to incite a war that Amestris has been waiting years to start. You cannot put yourself in this position. You cannot do this to me. You cannot do this to yourself. Do not do it for the love of god, think of what you suffered and what Arisha went through. You promised her. You promised that you'd—"

"S-Stop." Every sentence was a memory or the implication of one that she spent years trying to avoid. It never stopped anyone from hunting her down or finding her. She bore the scar of the wound that almost left her dead. "Stop making these assumptions when my engagement to Mustang is fake!"

"Huh?" Silas blinked skeptically. "What? Fake? But you're in love?"

She smacked his arm as hard as she could muster. "Who's in love?"

"Ow!"

"He asked me for a favor!" she continued, but lowered her voice. "I'm not compromising myself in any way. We're going to be pretending to be engaged for when we attend the Fuhrer's party together."

"As Oona Marshall?"

"No, someone else. You'll have to tell everyone that your daughter won't be in attendance because she's had an emergency that she needs to take care of or something."

"But you're my daughter. People know that."

"They think Isabella Croft is your daughter. At least, people think that's what I look like. It works."

"What purpose does this serve? Why does Colonel Mustang need a fake fiancée?"

Cecilia glared at him. "I'm sure you know why, so there's no point beating around the bush."

"Do you want to know?" asked Silas, serious. "If I tell you, you might change your mind and run. It would be beneficial to our cause if I did say it."

"I want him to tell me," said Cecilia. "I want him to tell me all of his truths. I don't want you to do it. It wouldn't be fair to him, especially after he promised that I would be the first to know."

"You're in love with him," deduced Silas.

Cecilia's face grew hot instantly. "I'm attracted to him and I like him as an individual, but I'm _not_ in love with him! Not yet, at least."

"Not yet?"

"Look, we're here to talk about me buying a house!" she shouted, changing the subject. "Did you wire the money into my account or did you bring it with you?"

"With me. You would've gone to the bank anyway."

"So, you came all this way to lecture me? Why bother if you were going to give me the money anyway? You could have saved yourself the breath."

Silas frowned. "I will have you know—"

"Thank you, Silas, for always worrying about me," she said, interrupting him, taking a step closer to him. "You may not be my real father—"

He slapped his hand over her mouth and forced her to turn towards the entrance where a very shocked Roy stared back at them.

Shit.

Roy entered the apartment and shut the door with his foot, sticking both hands into the pockets of his coat. "So what's this about not being your real father?"

Cecilia and Silas sat him down in the living room. Silas forgot to lock the door on his way in and she cursed him for it.

There was no other way around things. They would have to move to the second stage of lying after being caught in the first stage of lying.

"I'm adopted."

"She's adopted."

"I can smell the bullshit without needing to sit so close," said Roy, arms crossed over his chest.

"Check official records if you don't believe it," said Silas.

"Official records claim that you have one daughter, Oona Marshall, and those documents can be doctored. You were in the right position to be able to do all that fifteen years ago. Your file is classified for a reason too, meaning even if you were the Fuhrer's personal assistant, you played an important role in the structure. If I went into Eastern Command and in an audience with my commanding officer said that I believe Silas Marshall rewrote his family documents, would you get away with that scotch free?"

Cecilia sighed. "Mustang, if I confessed that if you went to your commanding officer to say this about Silas and about me, that you would be responsible for my future exploitation, would you believe me?"

"Oona!"

She raised her hand up to silence any further protests from her father. He swallowed them down.

Roy stared at her, eyebrows knit together and furrowing his brow. "Why would you be exploited?"

"My name, my _real_ name, carries a certain weight."

"That isn't a good reason," said Roy. "You two are making it real easy for me to build a case against you, but even I know that I'm being cornered." His eyes fell on Silas. "I understand that there are people you don't mess with and something tells me you're one of them."

Silas grinned. "It's nice to meet a dog that knows his place."

Roy looked furious and ready to fire back, but Cecilia interjected in time.

"There really was an adoption," she said, praying to diffuse the situation. "The circumstances surrounding the adoption aren't exactly neat, so Silas wanted it off the record and claimed me as his real daughter. I can explain things to you in greater detail later, but you should be at work and I should be house hunting. You can ask me all the questions you want when you come home."

"You will answer all of them," stated Roy, leaving his seat.

"I will, I promise."

She walked him out of the door and outside of the apartment, out of Silas' line of sight, she kissed him goodbye.

"I promise," she whispered with her forehead pressed against his.

Roy kissed her again. "Don't spend too much on the house."

She watched him go, her fluttering heart never once calming to a steady beat as she returned inside of her apartment and locked the door. Silas waited impatiently for her in the living room.

The same sigh that escaped her, left him—relief. So close.

"We need to get our story straight," she told him.

They waited half an hour before they discussed the details of the new story that they would be telling Roy. Cecilia felt guilty about it, but she convinced herself that her actions weren't wrong. It was self-preservation. If she didn't take precautions, she could end up dead in the street like Melrick did or in her apartment like Petunia. She hated the idea that if the truth came out and Roy was the one to tell it, that the possibility existed in which he might be blamed for harboring the truth and be punished as well. Not only that, she was making it impossibly difficult for him to ever trust her and no real relationship could be started without a foundation based on trust, but she couldn't tell him everything now because she didn't trust him either.

This relationship with Roy would never work even if their feelings were mutual. It was best for it to stay physical, no commitment or attachments necessary. It would take her some time to be able to separate her real feelings from the act, but it wasn't impossible. She could do it.

She was punishing herself.

No.

As she spoke to Silas, she made up her mind. After the party, after all of it was said and done and Roy got what he wanted, she would disappear. Go back to South City, try West City, or even go to North City. That was the only way things could work, by not existing. He would forget about her and she would forget about him.

Silas was right. She couldn't keep putting herself at risk. She needed to stay protected and hidden for as long as it took for the people hunting her to leave her alone.

She said it before. She resolved to accept that fact before, but she was too stubborn about leaving her feelings behind to follow through—a horrible trait of hers.

Silas set the briefcase down on her table and walked up to her. He took her face gently into her hands and kissed her forehead. She closed her eyes as he lingered close to her, the warmth of his affection made her feel content.

"I love you, Cath. Do not let this become more than it should. It started as a favor, so let it end as one. Nothing more. When you are done, come home. You can stay there or you can branch out somewhere else, whatever you want, I will do for you."

Cecilia smiled. "Thank you, Silas."

"Now, if it is just a favor that I'm playing along with, I can help you house hunt tomorrow morning if you'd like."

"Thank you, but I know that you're busy, so go finish whatever work you're neglecting."

Silas left her home and she continued tidying up her apartment. She would see a realtor about purchasing a house once she was done, with any luck she would be able to go see a couple of homes that afternoon.

* * *

 **xl** : I, too, cannot wait for all of Cecilia's bad decisions to come bite her in the ass.

My thanks to **animexxfreakxx** , **sox0359** , and **Kimono Kay** for your reviews.

Have I mentioned enough that I am free from school? I'm free!


	26. A Modest House

**Chapter 26** : A Modest House

Cecilia surprised Roy when she dropped by East Command, her timing so impeccable that her visit fell during his lunch break, and she commanded attention. And why wouldn't she?

She was stunning.

Cecilia appeared dressed in a white lace sleeveless top with a high-waisted floral skirt that fell below her knees. Her dark hair was lightened to a brown-blond shade that she pinned into a low ponytail and a short fringe stopped above her eyes.

She planted a lingering kiss on his lips in front of enough people to jumpstart gossip and he felt the heat rise to his cheeks before he took her hand, pulling her into the nearest empty room.

"What are you doing?" he asked lowly.

"Getting better acquainted with your work," she told him. Her cheeks were flushed pink, the same shade as her glistening lips. "I think that it's only fair to have your workplace become acquainted with me so that I can properly assimilate into my role as your fiancée."

"You changed your hair," he said, pushing aside a few strands from her forehead.

"Do you hate it?" she asked curiously. "It took me a while to get it to my original color from black."

"No, no, it suits you. You look beautiful. Well, you always do, but this is just—you're always beautiful."

This was her niche. Changing identities.

It said a lot about her, but he could barely string a thought together, stunned by her looks.

"Thank you," she said, then thrust a neatly packed lunch into his hands. "I just came to bring you lunch."

"Oh, thanks."

"If anyone asks, my name is Odessa Franklin. You think up anything else that people might ask and fill me in on it later." She rummaged around her purse and pulled out a piece of paper. "This is the address to our house. I'd stay longer, but I left the interior designer waiting."

"Interior designer?"

"Well, we're not going to live in an ugly house."

Cecilia kissed Roy deeply. He almost dropped the lunch when he tried to wrap his arms around her. She pulled away and ran her thumb across his lips, laughing.

"Lipstick," she said. "Got it. I'll see you at home."

Roy returned to his office with his lunch and lorded it over his subordinates until Hawkeye was annoyed enough to hit him upside the head. That didn't stop him from dropping Odessa's name enough that by the end of the day everyone was calling her his girlfriend.

After leaving work, he dropped by his house to pack a bag and drove to the house that Cecilia bought for them to share. It was a townhouse located in a more expensive part of the city, gated with a small patch of yard in the front with gray stones leading onto the tiny porch. It was a sturdy, brown, bricked adobe with two floors and four windows facing into the street.

He rang the doorbell. The porch light was on, flooding the small rectangular space in yellow light. Underneath his booted feet was a welcome mat, an ordinary half circle sitting next to the bottom of the door. There were two potted plans sitting up against the wall to the right. He assumed they were flowers though there were no blooms.

Cecilia opened the door and welcomed him into their house. He took note of the fact that Cecilia and the interior designer she hired had been hard at work all day. There were new designs for wallpaper in the short hallway pinned to the wall alongside paint swatches that coordinated well with the patterns. The first room to his left was the living room and in front of him, at the end of the hall, were the stairs.

"Want to leave your things upstairs? You can put them in the master bedroom, it's the last room down the hall."

"How many rooms?" he asked, curious.

"Three. Did you want more? I could get one with more."

"No, no, three is more than enough."

Roy headed for the staircase excusing himself and followed her directions to the master bedroom. There was a large bed in the center with a black comforter set and several pillows stacked against the headboard in disarray. It was not completely furnished so he was able to gauge and admire its size. There was plenty of closet space for two people and a master bathroom with a large tub.

Cecilia went all out. He couldn't even imagine what she spent on a house for the sake of their fake engagement. He wondered why she was living in an apartment if she could afford this.

He left his bag at the foot of the bed and went downstairs to receive the tour. Cecilia was happy to oblige him. There was a fireplace in the living room in front of a new couch set. She told him that she wanted a bit of a modern look to the room, but wouldn't mind some mismatching to make it fun and a little warmer. The kitchen and dining area were located side by side next to the living room.

"The dining set won't be delivered until Thursday," said Cecilia, "so until then, we can just use the counter in the kitchen."

She admitted she didn't like the tiling in the kitchen once she was giving him a tour and said that she was having it all redone next week along with the rest of the kitchen.

"What's wrong with the kitchen?" he asked, looking around to see nothing wrong with the place. Everything looked to be in order, everything worked the way it should, and the wooden cabinets gave it a warm feel, one that she was trying to replicate in the kitchen.

"I'm picky about my kitchens," she said with a shrug.

There was a door through the dining area that led to the stairs on the other side and a toilet through a door beside them, next to the cupboard underneath the stairs that she said she'd want to turn into a coat closet. Upstairs, she showed him the two rooms besides the master bedroom, they were identical in dimensions and she said they could turn them into guest rooms or whatever he wanted. There was a bathroom in the same hallway to be shared between them complete with a shower and bath combination.

Once in the larger bedroom where he had dropped his things off, Cecilia beamed at him.

"I bought the largest bed available. We don't have to sleep together, of course," she said, "we can always just turn the guest rooms into our own bedrooms and pretend to sleep in here if we have guests over."

He nodded. They could. It was probably better for them to do that, but he was liking the idea more and more because he liked being close to her.

However, there was something else on his mind that he couldn't shake.

Cecilia was entering the master bathroom when he asked, "Are you going to tell me about Silas?"

He spared her the interrogation before, but he wouldn't push it off for later. What Silas did was criminal. Tampering with official military documents was a serious offense.

She stopped, releasing the handle of the door. She lowered her gaze. "To be honest, I'm not comfortable talking about it because that means I have to think about it and if I think about it that means that I'm remembering it."

"Are you going to put the question off?" he asked, feeling that this was the expected response to receive.

"No, I'll tell you the truth," she started, the aura around her completely shut down. "My uncle wants me dead. The caretaker from my childhood home understood that the only way to ensure I could live the life that I wanted would be through giving me up. There wasn't much she could do for me, but she had a friend that could. Silas offered me protection. In exchange, I would have to give up my inheritance. My uncle tried to stop the adoption and things got out of hand. I don't know what happened. I was too young to understand it all. I just knew that I needed to get out. Just me.

I've gotten older and understood that my uncle would've fought the adoption for as long as he could, claiming that as my last remaining relative he should have custody of me because he wanted access to my inheritance, so to spare me the heartache down the line, Silas made the decision to change the records and claim me as his own. If my uncle were to try to claim that I was adopted without his consent, there would be no record of the adoption taking place. Simple as that."

"Your uncle?"

She nodded.

"Is he still searching for you?"

Cecilia walked over to the light switch and turned on the bulb above their heads. She went back to stand in front of him and unzipped her skirt at the side, letting it pool at her feet, and she lifted her lace shirt to expose her abdomen. He wasn't sure what to do other than watch as she took one of his hands and pressed it against her lower abdomen where the skin was a little rough against his grazing fingertips, a faded line that he often overlooked but felt so clearly now.

"He found me a few years ago," she whispered, looking up at him with glassy eyes. "The knife he sunk so deep into my skin, the initial piercing sharp pain was nothing compared to the way he went onto carve open my stomach." She flattened his hand against the scar, keeping his attention locked on her. "I wanted to die in that dark alley because it would hurt less than living, but I was found and I was saved. The person that did this to me wasn't actually very good with a knife, else he would've succeeded in killing me. I did undergo surgery to make sure everything was working as it should and was stitched up. I left Central City as soon as I was better. Came here. He hasn't found me yet."

"Who is he?" asked Roy, fury boiling through his bloodstream. He had seen the scar before, but he never paid attention to it. He imagined it was there from an accident in her youth. Children hurt themselves all the time, sometimes mere cuts and bruises, but sometimes more.

"A powerful man, too powerful for a mere coronel to handle, too much for the ex-assistant of the Fuhrer to handle, too much for me." She released his hand and took his face in hers. "Don't mistake my honesty as a plea for help. I'm not asking you to help me. I don't need help. I'm not trying to get anything back; I'm just trying to live. So, stop looking so angry."

Cecilia's words left an impression on him. They made his stomach churn as he watched her pick up her skirt to re-zip it. "I'm going to serve dinner," she said, heading for the door. "You should come down when you're ready."

"Cecilia."

She stopped to look at him. "Yes?"

"You don't have the right to dictate what my reaction to something you say gets to be," he told her.

"You're right, I don't," she said walking away. "I'm sorry for making assumptions."

He wanted to tell her. Say what he failed to say to her when she blurted out her feelings.

This wasn't unrequited. There was nothing about them that was, but he couldn't take the risk. He wouldn't give himself a weakness like Cecilia. If she was already in danger, why should he put her in more? His goal was not an easy feat and he'd have enemies for days as he tried to accomplish it.

However, every day, every hour, every minute, and every second that he breathed, the more the mystery around her deepened, the stranger the things she revealed to him, the realization that this woman was a practical stranger to him, yet he was so helpless when it came to her.

She was already a glaring fault on his person because he cared so much about her, the feelings deepening more and more with time. He didn't even trust her, not completely, despite her swearing that she would be honest with all of the questions he asked. This wasn't a good relationship. Looking at them now, anyone would say they were both punishing themselves in being together. They didn't have a firm foundation to stand on and it was going to crumble.

This relationship already ran its course. Any more and it'd be harder to break it off.

Once she helped him gain the last remaining connections that he needed, it would only be fair to let her go.

Roy followed Cecilia out with these thoughts in his mind and as she neared the staircase to descent, he grabbed her from behind, pulling her into his arms, her back against his chest. She jolted and he wondered if her heart skipped a beat, if her heartrate increased because of his sudden embrace. He slid his hand over her lower abdomen, aware of the scar underneath it and the story attached to it. She made a strange sound, a frightful noise, as her hand shot down to take his from her abdomen and her face turned red.

"What are you doing?" she asked suddenly.

He kissed her neck and she squirmed, trying to shake him off, but he held onto her tighter. Her struggled died off after another minute had passed and he turned her around, pressing her back against the wall behind her. He kissed her and she responded in earnest, wrapping her arms around his neck to draw him closer. Her body molded against his like it belonged there and he pressed her closer with one hand on the curve of her back.

"What about dinner?" she asked breathlessly, moving her face away to break their kiss before it grew too heated.

"I want to fuck you," he declared, pulling her back into a passionate kiss. "Dinner can wait."

She pulled away to give him a breathy yes.

Dinner waited.

It was past midnight when he was done satisfying Cecilia and she way lying on her back still feeling the waves of pleasure run through her. She was angry when she slid out of bed, snatching her clothes off the ground.

"Why are you upset?" he asked, blocking her path on the way out the door.

"I'm not angry," she told him, not looking at him. "I just want to shower and sleep."

"What did I do wrong?"

"Nothing," she shouted, but he did everything wrong. He could tell how hurt she was as she looked at him. "You did nothing wrong! Let me go!"

He moved out of the way. She stomped down the hallway into the bathroom shared between the guest rooms and never returned. She didn't go down for dinner when he did. She locked herself up in one of the guest rooms and he slept alone in the giant bed, his skin hot from the scalding bath he finished taking before heading for bed and from the memory of her body pressed against his.

Everything was wrong.

* * *

 **xl** : These two...oh how they kill me.

I'm currently debating on continuing this mood onto the next chapter or saving it for later, so until I make my decision on what I like better, the next chapter will be a little delayed. I'll see you next time.

Many thanks to these lovely people for their reviews: **KimonoKay** , **De hearts 26** , and **WhoisMissa**.


	27. The Fuhrer's Wife

**Chapter 27** : The Fuhrer's Wife

"Did you change your hair? Is that an engagement ring? Are you wearing an engagement ring? Are you engaged? To who? To that hot military man? What was his name…? Roy! Are you engaged to Roy? Cee?" asked Barbara, pursuing Cecilia around her boutique. This she didn't account for—Barbara being present for her plan to nab invitations to the Fuhrer's party next week for Roy and Maes. Barbara went around the small chain of boutiques that she owned at specific times of the week and Cecilia requested one that she was sure wouldn't be in Barbara's sight that Thursday morning when she asked her to put out the new perfume by a label that Cecilia knew the Fuhrer's wife was quite fond of. "Cee!"

"I'll explain everything to you later, Barb, I just need you to tidy up here and go on your merry day, you must have a thousand things to do."

"Well, I do, but we haven't talked in days and you suddenly called me to ask for a favor, I—what's happening Cee?"

The worst of it all was that Cecilia felt terrible about asking Barbara for a favor after what happened with Melrick. She had wanted to give her friend a sufficient amount of space so that she could spend it with her family and mourn her uncle's death properly.

"Let's go out for coffee tomorrow morning," suggested Cecilia. "Sound good?"

Barbara frowned, but went past the front counter to pick up her purse. "Fine. I'll meet you at nine at your workplace."

"Thanks," she said, waving her out the door.

Barbara turned around, retracing her steps back to the entrance, stricken by thought. "Maria asked me to invite you to her bar opening. It's this weekend. She doesn't know how to contact you since you moved, so tell her how to find you when you meet her."

"Got it."

"Don't forget nine in the morning tomorrow."

"I won't."

She succeeded in evading Barbara's questions and in allowing herself enough time to think up a way explain her engagement to Roy without contradicting the thousand other lies she had been telling.

Cecilia walked behind the glass counter of Barbara's boutique to reach the entrance of the backroom. She shrugged off her coat and pinned one of the nametags she found on a table. She carried a few bottles of the new perfume Barbara left labeled on the same table out into the store. She placed them on a shelf where they would be the focal point of every customer to enter. Being from Mrs. Bradley's favorite brand, she would recognize it at once.

She heard the jingle of the bell when the entrance opened followed by a hesitant, "Hello, Miss Warren?"

Cecilia turned to see Gracia Hughes enter the boutique as she carefully pushing her hair behind her ear. Cecilia waved her in with a smile and Gracia joined her, asking about what she could do to help. Cecilia filled her in on all of the important details, remembering to tell her that this was secret military business when it came to explaining her new name and the need for the invitation. It _was_ secret business, so she wasn't lying. Gracia appeared excited about participating.

"And please call me Cecilia," finished Cecilia with a smile that Gracia returned.

She let Gracia handle the register as the first of many customers started to pour into the shop. Cecilia took care of helping them around the boutique, familiar with it because her friendship with Barbara often meant standing around watching Barbara handle her customers while Cecilia waited for them to continue their conversations. Cecilia mimicked her friend's natural sales' charm as best as she could and managed to guide a number of people to Gracia to purchase the items in their baskets.

Cecilia noticed the Fuhrer's wife approaching the boutique with one of her assistants, Josephine—Cecilia's insider. She unpinned the name tag she wore, pocketing it, and gestured to Gracia that Mrs. Bradley was there. Cecilia picked up a basket and put a box of perfume in it as she stood in front of a wall of glass perfume bottles pretending to be deliberating about what to buy.

The bell jingled and Cecilia looked to Gracia. "What do you recommend?"

Gracia excused herself with Cecilia to welcome the Fuhrer's wife and Cecilia's eyes met the woman's. The Fuhrer's wife was a lovely woman in a modest dress with a kind face, light hair pinned back and sparkling eyes. Cecilia started to smile when she heard Josephine's voice shatter the silence.

"Odessa?" Josephine blinked as if surprised to see her. She glimpsed at her employer, apologetic for her sudden outburst and explained. "I went to school with her. She's Odessa Franklin, heiress of Franklin, Inc."

"The confectionary?" asked Mrs. Bradley, surprised.

"The one and only," Cecilia answered, all charm. "It's an honor you know my grandmother's company."

"I just love your cakes."

"Do you? You should try our new peach cake," said Cecilia. "It's a brand-new recipe we're planning to put out in the market next month, but I can whip up a few cakes and have them delivered to you"—Cecilia grabbed a small planner from inside her purse and opened it up to that week, the agenda was packed tight with made-up business meetings, appointments, and other engagements, including wedding plans—"how does tomorrow morning sound?"

"I couldn't accept such generosity," started Mrs. Bradley.

"Oh, I know, why don't you consider it a gift for the Fuhrer? His birthday is coming up, isn't it?" asked Cecilia, penciling in the delivery. "Does he have a preference? Oh!" She clapped her hands, as if struck by an epiphany, and gestured for Gracia to step forward. "Have you met my cousin? Gracia Hughes."

Mrs. Bradley offered her hand to Gracia and they shook, exchanging pleasantries.

"Do you work here?" asked Mrs. Bradley.

Gracia smiled. "No, I'm just helping Odessa. I'm a friend of the boutique owner's friend and she was nice enough to do me this favor."

"I heard this boutique had the new scent by Fleurelis out early," whispered Cecilia, gleeful. "I couldn't pass up the opportunity to buy it and practically begged poor Gracia to help me."

"A new Fleurelis perfume, my," said Mrs. Bradley, eyes sparkling with interest.

"There are plenty of bottles if you're interested in the brand," said Gracia, waving to the display Cecilia prepared.

Mrs. Bradley went to try out the sample and Gracia joined her to help her. Cecilia was approached by Josephine and while her employer's back was turned, Cecilia slipped her a thick envelope that Josephine stashed away inside her coat pocket. She detached herself from the assistant to rejoin the Fuhrer's wife and Gracia, resuming her part beautifully.

At the boutique's entrance, Mrs. Bradley turned back as Cecilia and Gracia made small talk. She stepped forward once.

"Actually, I just recalled, I've sent an invitation to your grandmother for my husband's birthday celebration, but I haven't heard back," started Mrs. Bradley.

"Did you?" asked Cecilia, feigning surprised. "Grandma's been sick lately, so she might not have gotten to it yet." She looked to Gracia. "We should drop in for a visit after Barbara's manager comes in and remind her about it."

"Oh yes, definitely, I do hope that she's doing okay," said Gracia.

"I expect to see you both for the celebration," said Mrs. Bradley.

"Of course," said Cecilia, inwardly celebrating. "Do we need to RSVP before a certain time?"

Mrs. Bradley asked Josephine to make a note in her agenda to have them on the invitee list under their own names and their preferred plus one. Gracia gave her husband's name and Cecilia offered her fiancé's, the news surprised Mrs. Bradley.

"Recent engagement?" she asked, excited by the subject of love.

Cecilia shook her head, swallowing the lump in her throat. "N-No, well, yes, I mean, we have been seeing each other for quite some time now and he just sprung it on me a few weeks ago. I didn't expect it. Oh, and there's so much to do for the wedding."

"It'll be worth it," promised Mrs. Bradley.

Josephine finished making her notes and shut the sleek agenda, reminding the Fuhrer's wife of a pending engagement they had scheduled within the next hour. Everyone bode farewell, Josephine told them they would receive a formal invitation within the next two days while Mrs. Bradley apologized for the late invite, and the Fuhrer's wife and her assistant departed.

Gracia exhaled, leaning against the counter. She held one hand to her chest. "That was nerve-wracking."

"I'm sorry about having to put you through this," replied Cecilia, pushing her fringe back. The strands as they fell back into place tickled against her forehead.

"Maes told me it was important," said Gracia, "I don't mind it, but I never thought I'd ever lie to the Fuhrer's wife to her face."

Cecilia started to laugh and Gracia joined her at once. After locking up Barbara's boutique, Cecilia invited Gracia for brunch to appreciate everything she did for her that morning.

* * *

Cecilia returned home. She went upstairs to the master bedroom and dropped her purse at the foot of the bed. She kicked off her shoes, slipped out of her coat, and unbuttoned the top three buttons of her shirt.

She sank into bed with a sigh, lying flat on her back staring at the ceiling, and dozed off. She dreamt of darkness swallowing her whole, like the cold sea, just drinking her down.

Roy's approaching footsteps woke Cecilia. She sat up as he entered, rubbing her eyes.

"Did I wake you? Sorry." He removed his blue uniform jacket and dropped it over her purse. "I bought dinner."

"No, I was about to take a bath." She stood up, awkward about the amount of skin she was showing. She grasped the top of her shirt shut with one hand. "Gracia and I got the invitations this mornings."

Roy's expression brightened and he strode forward about to embrace her, but she pushed him against his chest, keeping him at a distance, shocking herself.

He lowered his eyes to the ground as her heart thumped, pumping dread through her bloodstream, and his eyebrows knit in consternation. "Sorry about that."

"I'm going to bathe, excuse me."

She left the room in a hurry, picking up her purse and shoes on her way out, holding them to her heaving chest. She locked herself away on the bathroom at the end of the hall, sinking to the floor with her back pressed against the wall.

Why did she push him away?

* * *

 **xl** : Happy New Year!

Here's hoping that 2017 is kinder to the world.

I wanted to post an assortment of updates, but a lot got in the way. Instead, I've settled with kicking off 2017 with 2 chapters of Firestarter! Enjoy! (The next chapter will be available in a few, I'm still doing final edits.)

Thank yous and hugs to **W** **hoisMissa** for reviewing the last chapter!


	28. Fools in Love

**Chapter 28** : Fools in Love

Cecilia wept into her pillow at night, the limbs of her body as heavy as her chest. She slept in the privacy of a guestroom on a pile of blankets. She hugged a pillow to her chest to silence its thumping and failed many times over to stop crying. She didn't have any reason to cry, yet she didn't understand the reason for her tears.

She left for the bathroom sometime past midnight to wash her face and dreaded her reflection in the mirror. No matter her efforts, she couldn't stop her eyes from looking so puffy and gave up.

Roy stood in the hallway waiting for her to exit. Her heart jumped at the sight of him. He approached her and she flattened against the wall as the distance between them shrunk, his body boxing in hers. His eyes reflecting her stricken expression and she dropped her eyes, but his fingers slid under her chin to raise her face. He caressed her cheek with his thumb.

"What are you doing up?" she asked, trying to shrink into the shadows to hide the puffiness of her eyes. She spoke softly as if there were other residents besides them that she was afraid of waking. "You have an early day tomorrow."

"I want to talk to you," he told her. "I want to kiss you…can I?"

Cecilia pressed her lips together and inclined her head, accepting his request, swallowing hard. He planted an unhurried kiss on her, slowly he coaxed her mouth opened and slid his tongue between her lips. She felt her heart in her throat and his hands sliding down from her face to her waist, tugging her body against his. Her mind pulled her to the past and she pushed him away because _this_ was her weakness. She was so predictable. She fell in love so easily and always ended up hurt. Trying to end the repetitive cycle, she tried to keep men for a few short weeks, establishing a sexual relationship with no strings attached, before she traded one for another. She stepped over the line with Roy a long time ago and denial kept her sane, but she couldn't stand the way he seemed to be treating her since she told him about her uncle.

She didn't have to tell him anything. She shouldn't have mentioned her uncle. She blurted it out because she couldn't help it. Staring at him as he ran his cold fingers across the scar on her lower abdomen, the wound that she dreamt of from time to time and woke with a deep pain in the same place, as if it were happening all over again. The dark, cold alley. The blade biting into her hands, the blood dripping to the floor between them. The crazed look in her assailant's eyes, mortified by the reflexes that she had managed to catch the dagger. The man, stronger than her, pushed and pushed until her quaking hands gave in. Her voice growing hoarse from the screams. She knew she'd die that day, lying shivering in the middle of winter, the blood soaking through her clothes and pooling underneath her.

Her scar throbbed.

Roy didn't understand. He wouldn't as long as she insisted on hiding.

"I'm tired," she told him. "I want to sleep."

"If you want to sleep, do it in our room," he said, and he raised his hands up for her to see. "I'll sleep in the guestroom or downstairs. I'll leave the house if you want, but go sleep on the bed. I'll go get my things out."

She reached out for him as he started to turn, her eyes glued to the floor blurring. Her chest warming with emotion. She opened her mouth to speak his name, but a sob escaped in its place.

If it happened again—the dark, cold alley and the knife carving a line across her stomach, and if she stared her assailant in the eyes another time, remembering the pain she forced on Roy to endure, she would hate herself. She wanted him to be happy, but she wanted him to be happy with her.

Cecilia started to cry and Roy responded by enveloping her in a warm embrace. She sidestepped to remove her body from his arms, helpless in her attempts to stop her tears from falling.

He caught her by the arm, stopping her from running away. Her body was weak, her knees were starting to shake. She kept her eyes glued to a spot on the floor.

"Our relationship is all wrong," started Roy. "We're wrong for each other. You know this, I know this."

She nodded, silencing her sobs with her free hand.

"But here we are," he continued. "Living in a house, pretending to be engaged, sleeping with each other, talking to one another—"

"You asked for my help!" she responded. "I'm doing you a favor!"

"You had the right to refuse—"

"And what? Have you come back to threaten to expose me?"

Roy bristled. "I would never—"

"You don't know that! You don't know what you'd gain from it!"

She remembered Graham. Graham had charmed her. She fell in love with him to the point that comfort betrayed her better judgment. She revealed her story to him. The truth from beginning to end, trusted him, but he was worthless. The next morning, he tried to get an audience with the Fuhrer that ended in his death. Had Silas not caught him by coincidence, Cecilia would have been tortured and killed. She learned her lesson.

"I could've reported you a long time ago!"

"You should've!"

"And end up dead? Gauging by your adoptive father's threats?"

"Of course, you'll do the next best thing and use me for your benefit! You're just saving your own ass!" She wished the word vomit could stop. "Your involvement with me has been a stain, admit it!"

"Now you're making assumptions," he huffed.

"Don't worry," she said, snatching her arm out of his grasp. "This isn't something I'm unfamiliar with. Every man I've met since I've come to this god forsaken place has used me. And yes, maybe for some I've given myself up to being used, much like now, so you'll forgive me for having poor expectations of your gender."

"My gender isn't the problem; the problem is you can't admit that you're capable of feeling something other than bitterness."

She tried to escape again, but he blocked her path. Silas was right. This was a terrible mistake. She repeated history like nothing, unfazed almost, and she wanted the strength to overcome it.

"You love me," he said without a hint of arrogance. It was fact.

Cecilia's face heated. She let out a mixture of laughter and a sob, choking out a peal of laughs that convinced no one.

Roy took her face in his hands, determined. "And you want me to make you mine, to love you, to caress you, and to hold you. You want me."

Her heart skipped a beat, the laughter leaving her. She shattered.

"I want to do all of those things," he said. "If this fake engagement is as good as it's ever going to get for us, let's enjoy it. Forget everything else for as long as this lasts."

"This is insane," she blurted. "You can't be serious."

"I'm serious," he replied, pulling her in front of him, bearing down on her with affirmative look. "I know you'll run away as soon as you've completed my favor. You're only in Easy City for one last month, to tie up all of your loose ends, and then you'll disappear. I don't know who you'll be after—Cecilia, Oona, Odessa, or someone completely different. You don't trust me and I don't trust you. All of this is a mistake. We're not idiots, but we have feelings for each other. Nothing I say or do will make you stay at the end of your time, will it?"

"No," she confirmed, heart aquiver. His hands slid down the length of her arms and grasped her hands, their fingers entwining. She let out a shuddering sigh, the sobs lodged in her throat with the rest of her chaotic emotions, but she fortified herself. "And I _don't_ love you."

Roy laughed, the tension between them dissolving with the sound. "That's fine," he responded, humoring her. "I'm proposing we enjoy our situation. Enjoy pretending to be in love if you can't admit that you are."

"I'm not in love with you! There's nothing to admit!" she snapped, but her face burned hot with embarrassment. "Why don't you admit you're in love with me? You want to know everything about me to the point that you've turned into a creepy stalker!"

He continued to laugh and shook his head.

"Yeah," he said, his grip on her hands tightened. "Let's go with that. I'm in love with you."

Cecilia untangled their fingers and moved back to distance herself from him. This was too much for her to handle. She couldn't. Her heart was threatening to leave her chest cavity. She didn't understand this man, rather she didn't want to. He frightened her. If she allowed herself to be swept in by his charm, she'd spiral out of control. She'd admit she had powerful feelings for him, that she thought about him and that he made her weak in the knees. She wanted to kiss him and let him caress her as if he loved her.

"Believe it or don't." He took her face again, leaning forward. "I'm in love with you. Cecilia, Oona, Odessa, whoever you are. I love you." Whispering the words, her drew her into a tantalizing kiss. He repeated them between the sounds of their pressing lips, the quiet rustling of clothing, and the whisper of her hair sliding out of his hands. His gentle touches lit the furnace underneath the surface of her skin and the powerful heat spread wherever his fingers trailed. He pulled away to kiss the apples of her cheeks and grinned at her. "Does that work for you?"

"Mustang…I…"

"Let's go to bed," he said, pulling her along with him to their master bedroom.

"Wait."

"We've shared a bed before."

"Yes, but this is…different."

Roy chuckled. "Come on."

Cecilia walked into the room with him and shut the door behind them. She moved around the bed, opposite of him, and watched him slide under the covers before she pulled the coverlet back on her side. She climbed into bed, lying on her side facing him, and he gathered the blankets to pull them high over her shoulder. He let his hand fall gently on her face, tickling her skin with the heat of his fingertips.

"We are hurting each other this way, pretending," she whispered, the image of his face blurring in her eyes. "We aren't right for each other."

Roy slid closer to her. "That's true. We're a terrible match. In ten years, it's likely we'll look back to this day, remember lying on this massive bed side by side staring into each other's eyes in the dark, and regret being here."

"We're making a mistake," she continued.

"Yes, but we're human and we learn from making them," he told her, scratching the side of her head. "That's how we grow."

He kissed her face.

"Don't be afraid."

Cecilia's lips quivered, aching for his. He pressed his mouth to hers in a chaste kiss. They lingered in the proximity, their breaths mingling, his fingers twisting into the strands of her hair, and she molded her body to his. Their limbs were twining underneath the coverlet.

"You're shivering," he said.

She didn't realize before he said it. Her skin tingling, beneath the surface.

"You can't ask me not to be afraid," she replied, allowing him to kiss her cheek. A tear rolled across the bridge of her nose.

He didn't know why she was afraid of having the feelings she did. She couldn't tell him because she didn't know what he would do with the information. There was no trust between them and without it, what right did they have to love? Beyond the physical attraction, there should have been nothing and yet she enjoyed every minute they were together.

Roy reached to take both her hands and encase them in his, bringing them to his lips to kiss. "Why?"

She blinked and her vision blurred with the tears, distorting his face in the dark.

"I've always been a fool in love," she started, breathing in deeply. "My father curses me for it. He says I give my heart up too easily and who am I to say he's wrong. He's always right. I fall for all of the stops. Show me any romantic inclination and my heart betrays my brain. But it ends the same."

"You leave."

She nodded. "I go, because when people fall in love, they reveal themselves, their true selves. I can't do that. I can't do this."

Roy's grip on her hands tightened as silence slowly began to spread between them.

"After the war," he started, pausing at length, "well, before that, I saw the military as a way to protect those that couldn't protect themselves. I thought I was doing good—"

She covered his mouth with her hands. "Mustang, don't."

He pushed her hands down, holding them in place at his chest. "That war killed my idealism. I became a hero after committing a massacre. I killed the sort of people that I swore to protect with my position. I used my alchemy to murder them."

She heard the anger coiling around every word that left his lips and felt it in the way he crushed her hands against his wildly beating heart.

"I'm sorry," she whispered, disgusted by her actions when they first met. "All that I've said. It was cruel—"

"I saved so few people," he persisted, shaking his head. "I imagined the possibility that I could do more, make a difference, but I would have to do more, more than I can't accomplish in my current position. If I want to protect the people of Amestris the way they deserve, I need to stand at the top. To get there I need connections."

"You want to become Fuhrer?" she asked, gaping. A bubble of panic grew inside of her and she tried to ignore it.

His eyes shown bright with honesty. "Yes, exactly."

Roy revealed a part of himself that night that he otherwise would not have and all Cecilia could muster at the end of the night was the guilt of knowing that she couldn't do the same. She slept snuggled up against him with her head resting on his arm.

Before the sun rose, Cecilia roused awake and saw Roy sitting up with his silver pocket watch opened in his hand.

"Do you have to go?" she asked, groggy.

He snapped the pocket watch shut, returning it to the nightstand. He sank back into bed beside her and stared at her with a smile on his face. She pushed his face away, embarrassed.

"Stop it, Mustang."

Roy scooped her up in his arms and kissed her. "Stop calling me Mustang."

She laughed, ticklish when he nuzzled her neck. "Stop it!"

He turned to attacking her sides with wiggling fingers until she was laughing and attempting to squirm away. He didn't stop until she shouted his name, he swore he wouldn't.

"Roy," she said breathlessly. "Roy."

Roy smiled, looking handsomely disheveled beside her, and she stole a kiss. She wanted to keep this moment forever, but she couldn't.

She would end it.


	29. The Princess Bar

**Chapter 29** : The Princess Bar

"My friend Maria is opening a bar," said Cecilia, staring at their hideous new wallpaper while standing in the center of their naked living room. The new furniture was delivered that afternoon and it was scattered around the first floor wherever it fit. Roy had to squeeze in through the entrance hallway because the loveseat was left there temporarily with a square table and a tall lamp atop it, arranged in a way that they wouldn't fall.

"You seem to have a lot of friends with their own businesses," commented Roy from the kitchen. He was warming himself a cup of coffee after a hot shower. There was a coffee table in the kitchen with a rolled up expensive-looking carpet leaning into one of the counters. Two comfortable armchairs were blocking the way into the living room so he would have to go around through the hallway to join Cecilia.

"People like me," she replied absently. "Hey, do you think this wallpaper is off?"

"It's puke yellow," remarked Roy, enjoying the way the ends of her lips curved downward into a frown.

"There can only be puke green."

"Okay," he said, staring at the travesty that she wanted to feel joy about in search of a few good descriptors. "It looks like hay sprinkled in horse dung."

"Oh." Cecilia put her hands on her hips, a small wrinkle formed between her eyebrows. "Now that's all I see." She turned to him, serious. "I should've gone with the birds. You didn't have a problem with the birds."

"I didn't. I liked the birds." He hated the birds. "We liked the birds."

He poured the steaming coffee into his mug and went around to join her. She approached him for a quick kiss before she picked up a scrapping tool from the floor and started to attack the ugly wallpaper.

"Maybe we can do a simple paint?" she queried, working diligently under his watchful eye.

He took a large gulp of his coffee, the heat searing down his throat, and tapped her shoulder. She turned, her eyes big and shining met his briefly, and he pecked her lips.

"Tell me what choice you make," he told her. "What time is the opening? I'll probably have to reschedule with Hughes."

"Hughes?"

"I invited him and his wife over for tea," he explained. There were details of their attendance to the Fuhrer's upcoming soiree that needed a little more consideration. He didn't want to go in there blind. "I hope you don't mind."

"Well, that really does light a fire under me," she replied, pausing in her removal of the wallpaper. "You can ask them to come at eight, for a late dinner instead."

"And the opening?"

"Opening is at six, we'll stay an hour, buy groceries, and get started on dinner," she said, confident. "Good?"

"Meet you there?" he asked.

Cecilia nodded and gave him directions to Maria's bar. He planted another kiss on her, promises to get there straight after work, and left the mug in his hands atop the nearest surface to grab his coat.

For all intents and purposes, Cecilia was his fiancée. After their confrontation, she softened upon agreeing to enjoy their temporary life together as a couple. He hadn't decided if this was the worst thing they'll ever do or the best, regardless, he enjoyed it. The everyday. Mornings waking up beside her face buried under pillows, late afternoons returning home to her working on the house decoration as if it were her very own project, and nights falling asleep with her in his arms, sometimes he touched her and kissed her and made her lips part, her voice spilling in broken syllables. He confidently claimed she was his own, she could do the same.

Roy went into work boasting about his new fiancée to his most trusted men, who were prone to doubt his newfound affection as soon as he was on the phone pretending to flirt with another woman. Not any of them had seen Cecilia when she came as Odessa, but the rumors had reached them. The only person in the know was Hawkeye and she looked at him disapprovingly upon realizing that Cecilia was the same woman he had her investigate.

"I do hope you're not making a mistake," Hawkeye had told him, her face softening with concern. "She may appear harmless in person, but she isn't quite on paper."

"We have an agreement," Roy had replied, "and I trust her to keep her word at least."

That had been enough to quell Hawkeye's initial worries, but it wouldn't hold for long. She knew enough about Cecilia's changing identities and Silas Marshall that she was undoubtedly justified in her concern.

Roy left work at six and made it to the bar after a fifteen-minute drive. He stared up at the blaring pink and golden neon sign that read Princess Bar with a blinking crown at the end above a white banner that welcomed customers in. He stepped inside after a trio of giggling women that he realized were sneaking glances at him. He smiled at the one who managed to meet his eyes and the apples of her cheeks pinkened. He turned away and found Cecilia sitting at the bar with her light brown hair falling on her shoulders, strands of it shining golden in the white lights above her.

He called out to her and she turned, gesturing into the seat where her purse had been sitting. She kissed his lips in greeting, her pink lips curving into a soft smile.

"Let me introduce you," she said, leaning forward to beckon the dark-haired woman on the other side of the bar.

The presumed bar owner excused herself with the guest she was speaking to and approached Cecilia with a smile, which grew with interest upon taking note of his presence.

"This him?" asked the woman.

"Yes, Maria this is Roy Mustang. Roy this is Maria Beckett."

Maria offered her hand for Roy to take and they shook, exchanging pleasantries. She was a tall woman with black curling hair down her back, heavily lashed brown eyes, and a pretty face. She promptly took his order and brought him a shot of whiskey.

As he took the shot, the burn of alcohol crawling down his throat, Maria leaned into the counter. "She hasn't driven you crazy yet?"

"We're not interrogating my date," Cecilia interjected.

"Not yet," answered Roy simultaneously, though it was an obvious lie between him and Cecilia. They were driving each other insane for weeks and were using each other while in a fake engagement.

"Don't you mean fiancé?" teased Maria.

"What kind of name is _Princess Bar_?" asked Cecilia.

Roy smiled, leaning into his hand as he stared at her elegant profile.

"Lennie picked it," answered Maria, turning to Roy to explain, "Eleanor, my wife."

"Is it a historian joke?" queried Cecilia.

"More of a subtle reference to the missing Drachma princess disaster that happened over a decade ago."

"Ominous," commented Roy.

Cecilia stared at Maria with a hint of confusion, tilting her head to the side. "Huh?"

"Seriously, you live here and you've never heard about it?" asked Maria. "Didn't they teach you anything in history class? Didn't you go to school?"

"Is that a serious question?"

"Are you serious?"

"Her disappearance was all over the papers in Amestris because the government was accused of having kidnapped her to jumpstart a war with Drachma," explained Roy. "Admittedly, there's always been tension between the two countries, but the aftermath of the princess' disappearance is assumed to be the reason the threat of war has lasted so long."

"Oh look, Lennie's back, let her talk your ear off on the subject."

"Who's going talk an ear off?" asked Eleanor Beckett, slipping in behind the bar with a box that she set down on the counter. She was a shorter woman with straight brown hair that fell to below her jaw and large hazel eyes. "You better not be saying anything embarrassing. Oh, Cecilia!"

Eleanor leaned over the counter in front of Cecilia and they exchanged air kisses before Cecilia introduced him as her fiancé.

"Has she driven you crazy yet?" asked Eleanor.

Roy and Maria laughed.

"Hon, why don't you teach Cee a thing or two about the princess you named the bar after?"

"You don't know about Princess Caitriona of Drachma?" asked Eleanor. "Seriously? For someone so invested in the downfall of the military—no offense"—Roy shook his head, not worried at all about what was said—"you certainly missed a big one. The princess went missing and Drachma's king is determined to prove Amestris kidnapper her."

"Okay?"

"The legitimacy of Drachma's ruling class is at stake," said Eleanor zealously. Maria walked off to serve a new customer. "The missing princess was the last member of the royal dynasty. The man that is currently called king isn't respected as a leader, so he's very eager to prove himself as a capable king by promising to find her. He campaigned it for weeks until he was crowned king. Why do you think they're still riding our asses now? Why do you think Fort Briggs exists?"

"I get all of that, what I don't understand is why you'd name your bar to reference a missing person?" said Cecilia.

"Because it's one of the most interesting unsolved mysteries of the world. Isn't that enough reason?"

"Well, the king obviously killed her to gain the throne," remarked Cecilia.

"You can't just say that!"

"There isn't evidence to support that theory," added Roy.

"There isn't any to not support it either, though."

" _But_ ," started Eleanor, "there's a lot of evidence that points to the possibility of the princess being alive somewhere out there."

"I still think the king killed her."

"You are wrong on so many levels and I'm going to tell you why in a minute, but Maria needs help."

Eleanor slipped away to help Maria prepare drinks for a group of new customers.

Cecilia turned her body in the stool to face Roy, who smiled at her. "She should have just named the bar Caitriona if she wanted people to get it. _Princess_ could refer to anything."

"I'm shocked you haven't gotten rip-roaring drunk, yet?"

She laughed, turning away. She took her empty margarita glass and raised it. Eleanor came by with a new mixture a few minutes later.

Cecilia drank two more margaritas before they left the establishment. They dropped by the supermarket near their house to buy the groceries Cecilia needed to complete the dinner she swore she left half-finished and returned home. Roy followed Cecilia to the second-floor landing before he grabbed and spun her around to taste the alcohol on her tongue. Her arms wound around his neck, drawing him close, and his hands slid underneath the skirt of her dress, fingers teasing their way up her thigh to the thin, stringy fabric sitting on her hip.

Between heated kisses, she reminded him that there wasn't enough time, but Roy figured if they ran out of it, they could just serve salad for dinner. He respected her urgency to escape their desires to prioritize dinner and brushed the hair from her flushed face. They were disheveled and teetering close to being half-naked with her thong on the floor next to her shoes and jacket, the front of her dress sliding forward because he undid the zipper while his jacket and tie were on the ground too, his buttoned shirt halfway undone.

"We can stop, just say the word."

Cecilia pulled him back into a kiss instead and he hoisted her up against the wall. Her legs wrapped around him snugly as their kiss deepened and their hands grew as eager as their passion. Articles of clothing littered the ground leading into the bedroom and their bodies melted atop the silk sheets.

Roy thrust into her slow, reveling in the warmth and tightness of her, and she moved her hips to match his rhythm. Her nails pinched against the skin of his upper back and her voice spilled from her lips like a broken melody. He touched her face, memorizing the contours of it with his fingertips and kissing it to feel the heat of her skin pressed into his lips. He marveled at the slenderness of her neck, following the curve of it from under her chin to the middle of her collarbones, and brushed his palms across them, watching the way her chest rose and fell with her heavy breaths, mesmerized briefly by the slight bounce of her breasts. He ventured further down as his thrusts became shallow and her awareness of his scrutiny grew, fueling the coals of passion burning in her. She knew she was beautiful. She felt sure enough in her skin to love her body that his roving gaze elicited a sort of pride in her. This confidence was electric.

He slid his palms across her smooth navel, his fingers stopping briefly to inspect the lifted skin, pink against white, a small contrast that he overlooked many times and wondered how. He ran the entire length of the scar.

She rose onto her elbows and in one fluid motion switched their positions. Laughter escaped her, but the harmonious sound fell away into a deep moan as she guided his cock into its deepest reach inside of her. She rode him to exhaustion, until his mind whitened, and his pleasure reached its peak.

For several minutes they lay entangled on the bed, the thin layer of perspiration melting away with the chill of the room, and listened to the sound of each other's breathing. Roy played with strands of Cecilia's hair, holding it between forefinger and thumb, rubbing its soft texture. He caressed her cheek with his knuckles until she rose abruptly, complaining about how much time had passes as she tugged on the first dress she found in their closet and ran out the door without zipping it.

Roy dressed unhurriedly in a dark grey suit and rejoined Cecilia downstairs in the kitchen. He stepped behind Cecilia as she rushed through last-minute preparations and kissed the side of her neck, zipping her up.

"Now," he told her, "put me to work."

She kissed him gratefully and asked him to finish preparing the salad while she finished seasoning the chicken.

Hughes and Gracia knocked at their door a half-hour after the white meat began roasting in the oven. Hughes handed Roy a bottle of red wine and shot Cecilia a knowing smile before pulling her into a sudden hug before clapping Roy hard on the back.

Gracia apologized for her husband's behavior before Hughes wrapped an arm around Roy's neck and dragged him into the living room.

Behind him, he heard Cecilia say, "I imagine he's prepared to goad all night."

Roy couldn't have agreed more.

As expected, Hughes spent a greater portion of the night goading.

"You see, I knew it would end like this," proclaimed Hughes, laughing obnoxiously. "It couldn't be any other way with the way you two have been looking at each other. Oh, I feel as though it was just yesterday when Roy was complaining about that maddening reporter."

Roy grimaced into his platter of food. "I didn't complain."

"Oh, you're a reporter?" asked Gracia, smiling into the glass she was lowering from her lips. "What paper do you write for?"

"No, I'm really not," replied Cecilia.

"She's a part of the resistance," said Roy. "She spent her entire journalist career protesting against the military."

Hughes leaned forward, elbows on the table briefly before Gracia pointed it out, and commented, "I heard you're the one to thank for the lovely moniker the State Alchemist go by."

Cecilia laughed. "No, that wasn't me at all. That was"—and the laughter died in her expression—"that was…someone else."

Gracia was quick to change the subject and Roy felt Cecilia was relieved.

Roy and Hughes took care of the dishes while Cecilia gave Gracia a tour of the house.

"Don't get carried away," said Roy. "Cecilia and I aren't really engaged."

"For now," remarked Hughes, a glimmer in his dark eyes. "Say what you will, but the truth is obvious."

Hughes pulled out a narrow envelope from his coat pocket as Cecilia and Gracia's voices drew closer to the living room. "This is what you asked for."

"So, who was it? Her contact?" asked Roy.

"Elliot Myers."

He almost sputtered. "The major general?"

"I got a hell of a shock, too," said Hughes. "Your new fiancée has some good connections. You should be careful."

Roy caught a glimpse of Cecilia by the entrance of living room talking animatedly to Gracia.

"Weren't you rooting for us a minute ago?" asked Roy with a smirk.

Hughes grabbed Roy by the shoulder, giving it a squeeze. "You deserve a good woman, Roy, and on the surface, Cecilia is good, but you don't trust her and she doesn't trust you. There isn't much you can accomplish in a relationship without trust. Continue with your current arrangement until you both receive what you want from it and part ways. That is…unless you feel she will be a necessary asset."

He didn't want to see Cecilia as merely an asset. He wanted her at his side in a different sense, more than a trusted comrade and beyond a temporary friend.

"You have a lot to think about," said Hughes, releasing his shoulder.

They used the remaining time to go match their stories for the Fuhrer's party. Roy never considered Hughes would want his wife involved in anything to do with his ambition, but when asked about it, Hughes said that he didn't believe any danger could come out of attending a party.

"Not to mention, Gracia has been very excited about it," he had continued. "She's also fond of seeing _Odessa_ again."

Once their stories aligned, Hughes and Gracia left with Roy and Cecilia seeing them off at the entrance of their home. As Cecilia shut the door behind them, she turned with a frown adorning her face.

"Really? I give you free reign of what our backstory to coupledom is and you come up with childhood friends?"

"It's common."

"It's a cliché."

"It's believable. Nobody knows enough about where I was born to say otherwise."

"And not only that, I'm a laughing stock because of your poor reputation with women."

Roy laughed. "Not with women—"

"You know what I meant!"

"Well, the story serves its purpose. Simple is enough sometimes."

Cecilia headed for the stairs and Roy followed. She prepared a bath, inviting him to wash her hair, and he agreed, despite his mind full of thoughts his conversation with Hughes brought back to him. Doubts seemed to swim persistently through his head despite knowing that a week after the Fuhrer's celebration, there reason for his uncertainties would disappear from his life. Yet, he struggled with the idea to let her go.

They sat together submerged in soapy bathwater with Cecilia situated between his legs with her own drawn up to her chest and steam rising all around them. The mirrors on the wall were fogged and it smelled strongly of her citrusy shampoo mingling with the faint berry scent of her body wash. He lathered creamy shampoo through her light-colored hair, observant of the way the tension in her body gave in to his touch.

"What kind of story would you have preferred?" he asked, his voice echoing against the pearly bathroom walls.

"Something memorable."

Enjoy the moment, he told himself, and when the time comes, let her go. Yet he let his fingers fall from her head to wrap his arms around her and kissed her raised shoulder. Very softly, very honestly, he whispered, "I love you."

And he did.

* * *

 **xl** : I anticipate the next chapter will probably be either super long or broken up into pieces. I want a big chapter for the big party because it's going to be big.

Now, it's 1AM, I have class at 9AM, so I have to get to sleep. I'll post a preview for the next chapter sometime tomorrow.

Thank you to: **starrat** , **Kimono Ka** **y** , **helpmewoofy11** , **WhoisMissa** , and **animexxfreakxx** for your reviews!

I hope you enjoyed this one!


	30. The Days Before

**Chapter 30** : The Days Before

Cecilia invited Gracia dress shopping that morning. She drove them to a boutique in a crowded plaza where they went through several racks of evening dresses of varying lengths, designs, and colors. They moved from one boutique to the next until they came upon the perfect gowns for the occasion for which they were shopping for and settled in an outdoor café by lunchtime.

The shining sun filled the plaza with light, but the umbrella sticking out from the center of their table offered Cecilia and Gracia enough protection from the powerful rays to be comfortable. The two sat with several colorful bags emblazoned with boutique logos from their earlier splurge and were in the middle of dessert.

"I think what you are doing for Maes and Roy is very generous," said Gracia.

Cecilia returned her iced coffee to the table, smiling upon hearing the compliment. "Anything for Roy."

The following silence made Cecilia shift in her seat. She drummed her fingers along the sweating plastic cup and debated what sort of conversation would be deemed appropriate for the situation. She and Gracia had had no trouble conversing throughout the duration of their shopping spree earlier or through lunch.

"Maes mentioned you were childhood friends with Roy," started Gracia.

"We lived in the same neighborhood," answered Cecilia from the rehearsed story she practiced with Roy. "It's all very boring."

Gracia laughed. "It would seem so, I suppose, but I only brought it up because, while I haven't known Roy for as long as, let's say, you or Maes has, I know that he is happy with you here. He's a very serious man, but he used to feel very closed off. Maes worried about him all the time before you reappeared. Now, he hasn't stopped talking about you both."

"I'm more of a handful," joked Cecilia, though she was a firm believer of those words. "I think we're all wrong for each other, truly."

"Love isn't about being perfect for each other," said Gracia, "at least, I don't think so. It's about being happy _with_ each other. You look happy with him. He looks happy. That's what matters."

She lowered her eyes to her lap, a faint smile on her lips, and her cheeks warmed.

"But—"

And Cecilia caught herself about to spill her guts when Gracia looked at her expectantly. Seeing her, the feel of her, reminded Cecilia of Petunia, whose murder was ever-present in her thoughts because of her part in it.

"It is all an illusion," blurted Cecilia. "It's all a lie. There are things about me that I don't want him to know or see and we can pretend that all is well, but we're only hurting each other at this point. I want to let him go, but I want him all the same. It's more complicated than appearing happy, but I don't know what to do. I'm scared of what'll happen if I do tell him. I've been betrayed so many times before and while I know that Roy means well, how do I know that he won't. If he learns about that part of me I so desperately want to hide, will it change things? Will he hate me? I don't know. I don't know what will happen and I'm too scared to find out."

Empathy shone in Gracia as it once had in Petunia and her loss hurt more.

"Relationships are hard," said Gracia, not a beat later. "Taking certain risks are necessary and communication is important."

"If it meant life or death, this secret that burdens you, would you feel compelled to tell your husband?" asked Cecilia. "Life or death for both of you."

Gracia smiled. "It would hurt us both if I kept such a secret, to be burdened and for him to see me burdened. I would tell him, trust that he would understand, and we would figure things out. Don't be afraid to be vulnerable. He loves you. He's asked you to marry him. Any burden to you is a burden to him and keeping it a secret solves nothing."

"What if nothing can be done?"

"Something can always be done," finished Gracia. "Remember, two heads work better than one."

Cecilia and Gracia parted ways after lunch. Cecilia gave Silas a call on a payphone she found while cutting across a park. She thought she wanted to hear the sound of Roy's voice, but didn't want to bother him in the office over something so trivial and called Silas instead. It wasn't a good idea either. He talked her ear off about how worried he felt now that the party would be taking place that weekend and that he was going to attend despite her asking him to decline.

She returned home with plans to make preparations for dinner, but sat on the couch until, exhausted, she decided to lie down to rest her eyes. She woke several hours later to the sound of Roy's voice above her, filtering into a dream of a violent past that seemed so long ago, and the cold press of his hand upon her cheek.

"Have you eaten?" he asked, removing the other glove from his hand.

"No, I planned to start dinner when I came home, but…I guess I fell asleep."

"I'll make something. Go upstairs and rest, I'll wake you once dinner is served."

He kissed her when she approached him on her way out of the living room. She managed to squeeze another half hour of sleep upstairs before Roy woke her.

"Shopping went well, I take it," started Roy, scooping a spoonful of soup into his mouth.

"I like Gracia," admitted Cecilia, "but being around her makes me feel conflicted." She heard the sound of Roy's spoon hit the porcelain bowl when he set it down. She imagined that sounded strange and clarified, "She reminds me of Petunia Grant."

"Oh, the secretary from that time," he said, clearing his throat.

"Yes," she said, reminded by the tone of his voice that he knew nothing about Petunia apart from the fact that she had died in Cecilia's place. "The secretary. She was very…bright." Her head clouded. She pushed her chair back and rose from her seat. "Thank you for the food."

Roy looked down at her food and back to her face before she turned away, headed for the stairs on the other side of the threshold. "You barely touched it. Are you feeling sick? Was it bad? Do you want something else? I can make you something else."

He pursued her to the foot of the stairs where she acknowledged him, touching his face to feel his warm skin against her fingertips.

"I'm just tired."

She didn't think he believed her as she walked up to the second landing. She entered their room and decided to take a quick shower before going to bed. As she stood underneath the spray of warm water, she pressed her hand against her scar, fighting against the memory of it. The pain of the knife breaking the surface of her skin, the sharpness that made her insides shiver. She used to think about it less before, her mind busy indulging in the string of men she went through to entertain herself, but since she called attention to it to Roy, she's started to see it more often because he knew about it.

She shook her head, pushing her hair back out of her face, water running down the front of her chest. She ran her hands down to her neck, to entangle her fingers at the base of her nape. She sighed, the ache of her scar dulling.

Cecilia replayed her lunch with Gracia and the advice she gave her, the easiness with which Cecilia blurted out her insecurities in being with Roy. Maybe Gracia was right about taking risks in relationships. It wasn't hard before with the others, but every one of her relationships ended in failure or betrayal. At the same time, echoes of Silas' advice rang loud in her head, drowning out the tiny hope that began to blossom in her heart.

Uncertainty kept her from divulging any truth to Roy, though she wanted him to know her. The real her. Wishing that that lonely woman could be loved too…if there was any room in his heart to do so.

But she was overthinking things.

* * *

The mattress' springs creaked as Roy slipped into bed and the dread she had been cultivating since that day started spread across her chest. She thought about the upcoming party. It was only a few days away and though confident at first, now she wanted nothing to do with it. She wanted to run as far as possible because there would be too many people present. Someone would recognize her. How many times had Silas told her that she looked so much like her mother that she had cursed her reflection in the mirror for having been the catalyst to her downfall? If anyone so much as compared her to her late mother, it would all be over. It seemed insignificant, but it wouldn't be.

How much longer would she have from that day moving forward? She was safe now, but that could change in an instant. She felt the possibility of the Fuhrer's party becoming that instant increasing in percentage.

She looked over her shoulder at Roy, wondering if he was staring back at her in the dark. She spoke to his silhouette. "Roy."

"Did I wake you? Sor—"

"I'm cold," she said, her voice softening as the words left her lips.

If it was going to be over soon, what was one final risk? In the quiet she debated it all, the things she could say with little consequence and the pieces of her history that carried a little more weight. In less than a week, she and Roy would part ways.

Wouldn't letting him in make it worse? When she disappeared from his life, he'd remember Cecilia Warren, the liar, and she wasn't her.

Roy adjusted the blanket atop her and as he squeezed her arm in reassurance, she took his hand to pull it forward. He made a sound of surprise, closing the narrow space between them. His fingers curled around the inside of her palm and his hot breath tumbled down the nape of her neck.

"I resemble my mother," she whispered, a tremor in the dark.

She swallowed thickly, her throat dry.

Roy held her tight against him. She could feel the steady beat of his heart on her back—or was it hers?—the sudden skip of it surprised her. "She must have been beautiful."

"The crowning jewel of her family," said Cecilia, her heart hammering harder as if it were trying to sledgehammer its way out of her chest. She laughed weakly, her eyes filling with tears, and felt Roy kiss the back of her head. "My father hated her. He hated me for it too."

He said nothing and his silence frightened her. She swallowed audibly, sniffling, squeezing his hand as if it were a lifeline.

"I had a sister." She sobbed. Her voice completely broken as she tried to speak her name to him. "Ah—"

"Arisha," he answered for her, scooping her up in his arms, holding her so tight that she thought it might be enough to stop the tremors of her body. "What happened to her?"

She covered her face, shaking her head. She couldn't speak about Arisha.

He kissed the back of her head again. "I'm here."

The thought of her sister brought her to tears and he held her as close as humanly possible. When she turned to face him, he caressed her face. He spoke comforting words to her as he caught her tears and rubbed them away.

"You don't have to say anything," he told her.

"I wanted so desperately to save her," blurted Cecilia, sitting up. She sobbed so much that she started to hyperventilate. "I wanted so desperately to be with her, but I was a fool. I let her die alone. I couldn't keep my promise to her. We were never safe and we were never going to be safe. Who was I kidding? I'm not even safe now."

He sat up with her, reaching to take her into his hands, murmuring comfort to her as her brought her face close to his neck and ran his fingers through her hair, soothing her. Her heart raged inside of her, aching with the heavy burden of her sister's loss. She didn't like the idea of being remembered as so pitiful, but this was the most honest version of herself.

"You're safe here," he whispered, kissing the top of her head. "You're safe with me."

She looked up at him, shaken as much by his words as she was moved by them. She sniffled, rubbing her nose and blinking away tears. "I'll be safe when I'm dead," she said, hiccupping. "Nobody can protect me. Nobody can save me. My uncle will not stop until I'm dead and the old house's sympathizers silenced by that confirmation."

"Sympathizers?"

The question lingered with that word on his tongue and in his mind. She shook her head, pressing closer to him. She exhaled and her breath shuddered. Her body shook and the tears continued to stream down her face that upon seeing it reflected in the mirror, heavily shadowed except for the sliver of moonlight that painted a strip across her face diagonally, she saw the girl she used to be.

Afraid. Hiding in the shadows crying with a hand clasped over her mouth, hoping that it would be enough to keep all of her noises from spilling out into the open spaces where he reigned. She swallowed her tears, gulped them down until the bitter saltiness of them upset her stomach into a protest of its own.

And the shadows would grow darker, the heavy footfalls drew near, and the click of the lock rung like bells. For an instant, she was back there, poorly hidden in the corner being cruelly tortured by her monster of a father. His voice calling out her name, echoed, deep and guttural in her ear.

Cecilia felt the cold shudder run through her entire body and clung to Roy, tearing her eyes away from her reflection.

"I'm here," he told her, whispering the words against her right temple. "I'm here. You don't have to be afraid. I won't let anything happen to you."

She closed her eyes, nodding. Their bodies rocking together as he held her and she wanted to feel safe in his arms, but the darkness crept all around them, encroaching in on their light.

* * *

 **xl** : At this point, it feels like I've resigned to the drunken, bitter part of me that shouts, "Happiness is overrated!" into a crowd of couples.

This is why I decided to post that Valentine's Day one-shot and why I'll continue to write little joyful things like that to show these two in a happier light. And they will get their happy ending. I certainly want them to, but it's a long time coming. So, let us pray. Haha.

If you haven't read the Valentine's Day one-shot and are interested in it, I posted it as a separate story called "Whimsy" on my page here, so check it out. I'm working on a VD special for this year as well, but since it's self-indulgent smut, it'll probably be a while before I find time to get around to it.

Well, until next time.

Thank you to my lovely reviewers: **WhoisMissa** , **Kimono Kay** , and **maalani**! For the new favs and alerts, too, thank you!

Most importantly...

...Thank you for reading! :)


	31. The Truth about Bitter Ends I

**Chapter 31** : The Truth about Bitter Ends I

Silas arrived to Cecilia's bedroom as she styled her hair for the party. He gestured for her to continue readying herself and she continued to play around with the way she wanted to pin her hair.

He stood, leaning in the threshold of the master bedroom, with a bitter smile curving his lips as he watched her reflection in the mirror. His gaze made her anxious and she blamed her confessions from last night. Roy had kissed her sweetly the following morning and whispered her name against her lips as he drew back to bid her a good morning before he left.

She loved him, but hated the treatment—the idea of being fragile in his eyes, easily broken by the darkness of her past, but that wasn't frightening at all. She was in danger of being murdered.

"Your—"

"I—"

Cecilia let her hands drop, turning to Silas. He smiled with a little more sincerity, apologizing for interrupting her and offering her to speak first, but she shook her head. "You go."

"I just wanted to say that you reminded me of your mother. Your hair color, the change, I think that's it." He shifted uncomfortably where he stood. "I used to watch her seated in front of the mirror in her boudoir." He approached her, reaching to touch one of her curls, turning it so the sunlight caught in the rings, brightening the shade. "It made her laugh."

"I thought she was off limits," said Cecilia, though she recalled those moments as some of the rare occasions she saw her mother laugh in front of someone other than her and Arisha.

"How good are rules if you'll break them? How much does Colonel Mustang know?"

"She thought you were too serious," she evaded him.

Silas chuckled, moving to stand behind her. He touched one of her curls, twirling it slow between forefinger and thumb, and held it up to the sunlight entering through an aperture in the drapes.

"It was her only complaint."

His hand fell to her shoulder and she touched it. "She would like you better now."

Silas smiled, then grabbed a floral-shaped jeweled pin from the surface of the dresser and helped put it on the side of her head, pinning her hair back. He kissed the top of her head.

"Beautiful." He took a step back. "Finish getting ready. I'll be downstairs."

"Don't start anything with Roy."

"Oh? You're calling him Roy now?"

"Don't start with me."

He laughed his way out of the room and she stood, following him to shut the door behind him. Briefly, she remembered sitting next to her mother inside her boudoir watching her shakily covering the contusions on her neck and the bruising on her face as Silas stood guard by the door, his eyes glued to the floor, never able to meet her mother's gaze.

She exhaled. Everything would be fine.

Cecilia brushed her hands down the front of her floor length gown as she turned in front of the long mirror, observing herself from every possible angle. She agreed that the heart shaped bodice complimented her well, but she thought the color was too much and frowned, staring at her reflection.

"White suits you."

Roy approached her side, chuckling. Her cheeks flushed darker than the blush she applied earlier. He was impeccably dressed in a three-piece evening suit with his hair slicked back, as handsome than ever.

"You think?" she asked, trying to soothe her rapid heartrate.

Roy picked up the diamond necklace she left atop her dresser and gestured for her to turn around. She did, watching him in the mirror as he slid the cold piece of jewelry around her neck, securing it on the back. His fingers smoothed it out so that it fell evenly over her collarbones, the warmth of his fingertips made the breath catch in her throat.

"You look beautiful," he said against her ear.

Cecilia lowered her eyes. "You do too."

He kissed the top of her ear and she jerked away, face completely red as her hand shot up to cover it. He grinned, fully aware of the reaction he was going to get out of her when he did it.

"Don't tease me."

"No promises."

She caught a glimpse of them in the mirror's reflection and the smile faded from her lips. He squeezed her shoulder, drawing her gaze back to him and brought his lips down on hers faster than she could push him away to save her lipstick. He laughed, rubbing the hint of red from his mouth and the temptation rose in her like the temperature of her body.

He made a subtle advance towards her, but she stopped him. "My dad's downstairs."

"We have to make up for our teenage years."

She laughed.

His dark eyes captivated hers, brimming with a desire she couldn't never dream of putting to words, but she wanted it bad. Here. With the skirt of her dress hiked up to her thighs and her bodied ripped down to expose her breasts, with Roy buried deep inside of her and that same look governing the rhythm of his thrusts. She needed him disheveled and wanton with lust, with the buttons of his jacket and shirt scattered atop the sheets.

"We could always postpone until after he is gone."

That was a promise.

* * *

Silas took a moment to gather Cecilia's face in his hands and stared deep into it as if he were searching for something beyond the surface of her skin, as though he were trying to peel back the band-aids he helped piled onto her wounds to confirm the existence of the girl that he had saved so many years past from the Volkov family. Upon seeing her, the wounded girl, he released her face with a solemn kiss to her forehead.

"I will be near if you run into any trouble," he whispered.

Cecilia gathered her nerves, the ever-growing bundle knotting in her chest, and exhaled. She took his hands in hers and drew them away from her cheeks, his long fingers tangling briefly between strands of her hair. She viewed Roy through her periphery standing in the threshold of their living room.

"You don't need to be," Cecilia assured. "Dad, go home, get a good night's rest for once in your life. I'll take the first train to Central City to visit you and grandpa tomorrow."

"I'll wait at the station," he decided, tugging his suit jacket down to smooth the creases on it. "If you aren't on the first train, I'll return to East City."

"I'll have coffee prepared."

Silas glared at Roy on his way out.

"He really isn't going?" asked Roy.

"I asked him to stay home," she replied, walking out into the hallway past him to reach the stairs on the other side of the entrance. She heard Roy follow her up the steps and continued, "I thought it suited our plans better if he wasn't there. If people see us interact at any point in the party, your plan could backfire."

"Why would he accept that? It seems unlike him to give up the chance to be able to keep track of your every move. He has people following you."

"You noticed them?"

"Hard not to when they stand outside the house all day. I've memorized their rotations."

"I wish they'd stop being so obvious."

She reentered their bedroom to grab her clutch lying on the bed where she'd left it when Roy surprised her as she turned. He stood before her with a solemn expression that took her aback and he reached for her, taking her in by the elbows to close the distance between them. He secured his arms around her and his hand moved up to sit between her curled hair fallen between her shoulder blades.

"You're afraid," he whispered. "You have been for the past several days. I can feel your heart racing now. You're terrified." He kissed the top of her head. "I don't want you to do anything that scares you."

She raised her eyes to meet his, shocked into silence.

"If you don't want to go to that party, we don't have to go." The sincerity in his expression frightened her. "We can stay here. Have dinner. Break out the good wine—go buy a bottle somewhere actually—or go to a restaurant. Anywhere."

She swallowed hard. Her heart rioting with joy.

But this was something that he wanted. It had nothing to do with all the consequences attached to it. He'd relinquish them all. This was the opportunity he wanted to take full advantage of and that was the only message blaring in her head.

He didn't care about the lengths he needed to go to do it. That was how badly he wanted it.

She smiled. "Let's go," she told him, drawing away from his embrace. She headed for the door. "We'll get there late if we don't leave now."

"I'm serious, Cecilia. We don't have to do this."

"We're going to do it," said Cecilia. "I'm fine with it all, just a little nervous about it all."

And that was that.

They walked downstairs together and exited their home engaged in light chatter that had them smiling all the way to Roy's car. He opened the door for her and kissed her when she touched his face to call him a gentleman. The neighbors and her father's lackeys bore witness to the scene, but their opinions—good or bad—didn't matter to her. She needed to engrave this moment in her mind, take this emotion flooding her chest and immortalize it in her body.

Roy drove them to the Fuhrer's mansion, along the emptier streets, his fingers twined with hers and their grip never loosened. He held her hand as they met up with Hughes and Gracia by the gate where they exchanged pleasant greetings as other guests walked past them, shooing curious looks in their direction, the more dignified guest list already singling them out as outsiders. But Cecilia and Gracia quick fixed it when they followed a path full of lights into an illuminated garden filled with finely dressed people conversing with flutes of champagne as the orchestra played a beautiful tune fit for those indulging in dance. The Fuhrer's wife recognized them as soon as she saw them and went straight to greet them. She introduced the women around her, the wives of generals or heiresses of some large fortune, before she was approached by her husband. The others walking away to allow them room to speak.

Cecilia's throat dried at the sight of Fuhrer Bradley—a powerful man, his presence menacing. Her first obstacle.

Although differences kept her family from the peaceful arrangements others often shared with the Fuhrer, they had met once before when her father agreed to a political discussion that went nowhere. She was a child, but she distinctly recalled his face smiling down at her as he complimented her.

 _"You are the spitting image of your mother."_

The words distorted in her memory along with the film that rolled in her mind that started to fade into black.

"Odessa Franklin?"

His voice was low, deep with a tenor of friendliness that she forced to aid in lifting her spirits as she looked him in the eye, prepared to face the obstacle. Easing her heart with the thought, or rather the hope, that nobody's memory was that good.

"Happy birthday," she responded, all smiles and charm.

"Thank you," he said. "I hear we have you to thank for the cake."

"A gift." She turned to Gracia. "This is my cousin, Gracia Hughes."

"Ah, another Franklin, I suppose," he said, to which Gracia responded with a gracious nod. "Thank you for coming."

Gracia smiled politely. "We were honored by the invitation."

"Say." And he looked at Cecilia directly. "I don't recall Sara having any living relatives left, last I paid her a visit, she said she was alone."

A beat.

Mrs. Bradley promptly put her hand on her husband arm. "No teasing, we were very much aware of the Franklin girls." She smiled at them. "You were sent away for so long, but came back to watch over poor Sara when she became too ill. Did you hear that Odessa here is set to inherit the confectionary?"

"Is that so? How is Sara doing?"

"Better. Much better."

"Oh, there you two are. Ah, Fuhrer Bradley, sir."

Hughes appeared with Roy in tow and shook the Fuhrer's hand before Gracia commented that he was her husband, but it was Roy's presence that attracted his attention.

"If it isn't Colonel Mustang," he said, smiling. "One of our finest alchemists."

"Thank you, Fuhrer." Roy stopped at her side as she wrapped her arm around his, smiling up at him.

"You came with Odessa?"

"We were recently engaged," said Cecilia, showing off her ring.

"Well congratulations," said the Fuhrer, raising his glass of wine as if they were toasting to the revelation.

However, before Mrs. Bradley could speak, another small crowd of guests appeared to speak to them giving them the opportunity to go their own ways.

Roy took her out to dance the waltz among other guests and led her with skilled precision. He observed his surroundings as she watched him mark his targets, higher ranks in the military. She saw it in his eyes without him telling her a thing. He wanted access to a congregation of powerful individuals to decide who among them could prove to be an ally for him in the future of his plans.

Cecilia recognized her own position. "I'm a distraction."

"What?"

"That's why you wanted a fiancée. To distract. People would be too focused on me and our engagement than your true intentions."

He smiled. "You're right."

"It's smart."

His forehead furrowed a bit. "How are you doing? You looked a little pale talking the Fuhrer."

"I was nervous," she replied. "He's the Fuhrer after all…and I'm a criminal. I'm a little self-conscious being here. My heart's racing in my head. My hands are sweating—sorry about that."

He squeezed her hand in his. "Focus on me. Don't take your eyes off me."

"I need to find the bathroom."

"Oh." They pulled away from the other dancing couples. "I'll go with you."

"Don't worry about me. You should branch out. There are more than a few curious eyes on us." She kissed his cheek before leaving. "I'll keep my eye on you."

She wandered the party exchanging pleasantries with a few strangers here and there before she went to find a bathroom, keen on her observations as her gnawing anxiety ate away at her confidence in their plan.

Cecilia ventured inside the mansion to use the bathroom where she stood before the mirror questioning her actions all over again because that comment the Fuhrer made about Sara Franklin, her supposed grandmother, not having living relatives was too on the nose for her comfort. She agreed to come even after Roy told her it was okay for her not to, yet she wanted him to be happy.

Taking this risk could be beneficial for him if he succeeded and Roy was doing a fine job charming the guests last she observed.

She washed her hands for the third time and dried them. The noisy click of her heels followed her departure from the pearly room and she turned down the hall that had guided her way initially.

"Cath."

She froze in place, recognizing the voice that had spoken the name, but after a moment, she willed herself to turn because she could only deny it. Say she misheard her name or turned because she was curious. There at the end of the hallway was King Bradley, the friendly smile ever-present as he approached.

"It's an honor to have a member of the Volkov family attend a party of mine."

"Volkov? You must be mistaking me for someone else," she said, smiling, attempting to get away, but he snatched her wrist, keeping her in place.

"Caitriona Volkova," he said and her skin filled with bumps like an allergic reaction. "I never forget a face."

* * *

 **xl** : Scrapped my original plan to just post a huge chapter to close this little arc and decided to split it. I couldn't help myself with this cliffhanger.

What will happen next?

Stay tuned for the next chapter because this party is just getting started.

Many many thanks and blessing to my wonderful readers and especially my reviewers who have consistently lifted my spirits when school stress has been knocking me down. So, thank you **maalani** , **starrat** , and **Kimono Kay** for dropping a note in the last chapter. Ya'll keep me very motivated, which is something I need to survive!

Now, I'm going to continue trying to bargain my soul back from Persona 5 because I sold my life to it as soon as I started playing it.


	32. The Truth about Bitter Ends II

**Chapter 32** : The Truth about Bitter Ends II

"You are the spitting image of your mother," remarked Fuhrer Bradley. "I rarely forget a face."

He released her and she took a step back, the more distance she set between them the easier it would be to run away.

"The smuggling of the Volkov princesses into Amestris...you do not honestly believe that something like that would be done without my knowing." It amused him to see her shaken and as it did, a new facet of his personality revealed itself to her, frightening her. "Silas would not think to hold such secrets from me, keeping tabs on you was essential, but you have no reason to fear me. It isn't as if you were meddling in things you shouldn't be or attempting to reclaim your throne—you wouldn't make an enemy of Amestris, who adopted you after you committed your crime, would you?"

Her jaw hung slack. The thoughts swarming her mind crashed, leaving her blank.

"Do watch yourself around ex-Emissary Gorokhov. I believe I just saw him and his wife arrive a moment ago."

"Gorokhov is here?" she choked out, hand shooting up to cover her mouth.

"Odessa."

Roy headed towards them, too far out of earshot to have heard the last string of words the Fuhrer addressed to Cecilia.

"I would prefer it if he doesn't become another Graham. He is a great asset."

Her heart sank too far from rescue.

"Is everything okay?" asked Roy, his concern furrowed his brow.

"It would seem Miss Franklin is feeling a little faint," said the Fuhrer, feigning empathy.

"It was nothing," she said, looking to Roy. Going along was her only choice, no other options available. "It must have been something I ate."

"I told you to sit if you weren't feeling well," said Roy, taking her hand. "Please excuse us, sir."

"Yes, do keep a watchful eye on Miss Franklin, it would be a shame if she were in any danger for overexerting herself." The Fuhrer smiled peacefully, as though his words had not threaded a warning in their undercurrents.

Cecilia felt the bile rise from her stomach and she rushed back to the bathroom. She made it to the toilet barely and vomited into the bowl until her insides shriveled with nothing more to give.

Roy crouched down at her side, holding tissue for her to take. She thanked him as she wiped her mouth with them, heart pounding in her chest, fear governing her mentality. The need to escape rising to conflict her want to oblige Roy and the emotions spilled from her eyes, a mixture of it all.

Unable to answer his questions, Roy took her in his arms and held her as she shuddered inside of them, the cold seeping into her being, pulsing in her bloodstream to pierce her heart.

"We need to go," decided Roy.

"No, we can't. You haven't gone around the room. Not all the guests are here. We—"

"We didn't have to come here today. If I would've known you'd have this reaction, we would've stayed home."

"The things I told you," she started, attempting to slow her heaving breaths and recapture a sliver of equilibrium. She faced him, brows drawn. "They weren't for you to feel any pity for me. This was a deal that we made to serve our own self-interests. Do not concern yourself over me, do not ask me to forget the plan and stay behind, do not ask me to go home now." She took his face in her hands. "Be ambitious. Lay your connects down. Use everyone you can to make your dream possible. Focus. Go back out there. Worry about you and I will worry about me."

He snatched her hands from his face. "I care about you!"

"You need to stop. Forget that you do, concern yourself with you." She forced a smile on her lips. "Everything's going to be okay." She softened, though the lie stung on her tongue. "Promise."

Roy and Cecilia touched foreheads. She closed her eyes, relishing in the feel of his hands on the nape of her neck and the firm press on her cheek.

"Everything will be fine," he repeated.

Roy helped her to her feet and exited the bathroom.

Cecilia joined Gracia and Hughes in the garden, but her pallor worried them. The trio moved along the guests as Roy continued where he had left off. Twice Hughes left them to find Roy and Cecilia would watch them as she and Gracia chattered with the wives of important men.

And nothing was okay. Everything spiraled out of control, rushing down the drain. It wasn't the Fuhrer alone. It was Gorokhov—spotting him in the distance with a slender redhead holding onto his arm and the sight of him clashing with the memory of him, the fear rooted in her chest started to grow like weeds, as she tried to avoid meeting his gaze. But his eyes were trained on her by the time Roy made his way to her and she felt heartbroken. Silas knowing the Fuhrer knew about her, the stab of betrayal left her restless.

"We are leaving," announced Roy, low enough for only the members of their own party to hear. Hughes kept his gaze on the sea of guests, saying nothing, but Gracia reacted to the sound of Roy's voice, looking to him. "Someone has been trying to gain information on Odessa. Hughes, you should get yourself and Gracia home as soon as you can."

His words were like an answered prayer.

They parted ways. Hughes and Gracia leaving the party ahead of them while Roy and Cecilia counted down the five-minute head-start they had given them before slipping out themselves.

Roy draped his jacket over her shoulders, the heat of it a welcomed comfort, but the suddenness didn't ease her heart. He guided her down what he called a shortcut to where he parked his car, but entering the narrow street, Cecilia startled into action. A man slumped against the base of a lamppost caught her attention; his head lolled and his hand pressed to his bloody abdomen. She recognized him almost instantly as one of Silas' men and searched for a pulse, but he was dead.

His gun sat half-gripped in his hand and she took it, searching the empty cross street ahead for the rest of Silas' men.

"We have to get you home," said Roy, taking her arm.

She didn't budge. "I have to find the others. If there's any chance that they are alive, we need to call an ambulance." She caught his gaze underneath a flood of moonlight. "I'll search for the others, but you have to call Silas. Tell him I was found out by Gorokhov."

"We have to leave _now_."

"Call Silas!" She thrust her clutch into his hands. "His number's written inside. Call him. I'll find the others."

"Cecilia!"

She ran away from where they stood after kicking off her heels. If she found even one of Silas' men alive, she could try the best with her mediocre skill to keep him alive until an ambulance showed up. By then, she would have all the information needed for later secured, but her heart fluttered wild inside of her as she moved along semi-dark empty streets with chaos in her mind and a sudden taste for the end hanging from her tongue.

It reminded her of her father.

* * *

 **xl** : I hope that the movement in these "The Truth about Bitter Ends" chapters is good. I'm sort of experimenting.

Thank you everyone that reviewed the previous chapter - **spicyrash** and **De hearts 26**! I'm so so so sorry about the cliffhanger and how short it was, but it had to be done! Anyhoot, thank you for reading!


	33. The Truth about Bitter Ends III

**Chapter 33** : The Truth about Bitter Ends III

Roy cursed, left with little choice in the matter and reassured himself with the confidence he had in her self-preservation. He took the quickest route to the nearest public phone and searched through her thin clutch for Silas' contact information.

The older man answered on the first ring. "Cee?"

"Your henchmen were attacked," stated Roy. "Cecilia wanted me to tell you that Gorokhov found her."

"Gorokhov? Mustang, where is she?"

"She went to find someone alive among your—"

"She's alone?"

Roy flinched. "She isn't—"

"You fool! Gorokhov will kill her! Forget my men! You bring her home!"

His insane lapse of judgment hit him like a derailed train and he dropped everything that he was doing to search for Cecilia.

The streets grew longer and narrower the further they got from the Fuhrer's mansion, but there was evidence of bloodshed where the alleys and streets melted into one. He sprinted past spilling garbage bins and abandoned crates until he found Cecilia administrating first-aid to another of Silas' fallen men. Her hands stained with blood up to the wrist, smears of it across her brow and cheeks, and the sight of her hardworking profile made him exhale.

She was safe.

Cecilia spotted him and scrambled to her feet, hands shaking as she slowly made her way to him. "I can't do anything for him; he's lost too much blood. We have to get an ambu—"

The shot rang loud in the deadened night.

Cecilia's widened eyes shining in the dim light lowered as if to her stained hands, frozen for an instant before she took a weak step forward, wobbling. A tiny black hole had ripped through the center of her bodice.

Horrified, Roy watched blood bloom across her chest and caught her when she stumbled forward into his arms. The weight of her slight frame in his arms, the sound of her gurgled voice as she tried to utter his name, and the sight of her hand attempting to cover the bullet wound oozing blood called forth a fury that blinded him.


	34. The Truth about Bitter Ends IV

**Chapter 34** : The Truth about Bitter Ends IV

The instant he tugged his alchemy glove on his hand and pinpointed the sniper stuffing his rifle into his bag, cursing beneath his breath, managing to shout, at the top of his lungs, "She's Caitriona Volkova! She killed—" And Roy snapped his fingers, gloves sparking, the fleeting assassin bursting into flames with an agonizing shriek. The force of the volatile alchemy blasted the top corner of the building and the wreckage scattered across the narrow street.

His breaths were ragged and his mind was wild.

He gathered Cecilia in his arms, her consciousness fading fast and the panic that swelled in his chest turned worst with every second wasted in his rush to his car.

Roy set her down gently in the backseat and sped to the nearest hospital. He carried her into the emergency room and left her in their care of its staff before he composed himself enough to report the incident to the military police. His fingers drummed on the surface of the table where the row public telephones sat. He kept his ears open for any news on Cecilia, despite his awareness that it'd be too early for there to be any. Once the operator informed him that an officer would be headed his way to receive his complete statement, Roy called Silas to tell him what occurred.

Silas didn't speak a word after hearing that Cecilia was in the hospital. The line went dead.

Roy sat in the semi-deserted waiting room drowning in regret. He let her run off when he understood the gravity of her situation after hearing her name in the mouth of a pudgy man in the company of a slender woman. He saw the dark intent in that man's eyes after he picked Cecilia out from the crowd of guests. Roy had wanted nothing more than to take her home where she would be safe, where she would stay one final night before leaving somewhere far from his reach, but this was farther still. The worst-case scenario happened and he wasn't prepared for the tear it opened in his chest.

He hurt.

His mistake weighed on him. How could he have been so thoughtless? How?

His confidence in her, in that everything would remain true to her promise, as if it all revolved around those simple words. _"Everything is going to be okay. Promise."_ Except, it wasn't. Cecilia was non-responsive when she was wheeled away and as the metal doors swung shut, he heard the emergency doctor ask one of her assistants to prepare an operating room.

All the while, his mind repeated the final words of the assassin before he charred him to death, seeing weakness in the nature of his actions. Wounding and capturing him would have been the logical response because the man could have provided a wealth of information, but he lost to his rage. The thoughts fled his mind and the memory of his actions were blurred, growing smaller in the distance. A foreign recollection of a man that he didn't recognize, or rather, one that he tried for years to forget, but the horrors he committed in Ishval were permanent scars in his memory.

A military policeman arrived an hour into his wait and Roy gave his statement, remaining calm despite Cecilia's dried blood on his hands. The policeman thanked him for his time and departed after informing him that the others found on and around the scene were dead.

Roy returned to his seat, time too slow and his thoughts dark.

* * *

Silas stormed into the emergency room and walked up to the receptionist desk to ask after Cecilia, struggling as he spoke to catch his breath. Upon learning that he was a relative, the young man behind the desk reiterated what he had told Roy half an hour ago. Cecilia was still in surgery and that the doctor would come out to meet him when it was over.

He found a seat across Roy, his eyes bloodshot and hand wound into tight fists until his knuckles blanched. Roy half-expected Silas to be furious with him after he shouted at him for leaving her alone before the accident, but Silas barely registered his presence.

"Caitriona Volkova," said Roy. The name echoing in the dark after the ring of the shot dissipated reverberated inside his mind for the past several hours as he made sense of the revelation. Silas' attention was immediate. "She's the missing Drachma princess, isn't she?"

"Yeah," croaked Silas. "She's the missing Drachma princess."

"No more lies."

"No."

Everything he ever wanted came with a price. Roy almost laughed. "Finally."

Silence engulfed the waiting room and time passed nerve-rackingly slow.

The discrepancies of Cecilia's life made sense. The moving around, the fake identities, the fear attached to attending the Fuhrer's party, but while he made these connections, the questions he had doubled. Her strange behavior in front of Fuhrer Bradley came to mind as the minutes dragged.

"The Fuhrer knows about her," he said aloud.

"Of course he knows about her," remarked Silas, tired as he scrubbed a hand down his face.

"But she didn't know."

"Did they meet during the party?"

"I saw them talking before she started acting worse, but she wouldn't let me take her home."

"She would do anything for you and carry it out until the end simply because you wanted it bad enough," said Silas. "The way that she loves others has always been dangerous, but she can't stop it. The only way you could have gotten her out of that party would have been by dragging her out of it."

"Why aren't you angry with me?" asked Roy, annoyed by the lack of blame. He deserved the full brunt of it.

"It changes nothing. I warned her and made the decision to entrust her to you. We can reflect on our mistakes later, but what use is anger in our situation. I gain nothing from it." Silas exhaled, a shudder. "Continue seeking blame and you will destroy yourself. If you ever want to be Fuhrer, you'll have to learn control. Not everyone can be saved, sacrifices have to be made, and mulling over the consequences won't build the country you want."

Roy moved to the edge of his seat as a doctor in scrubs exited into the waiting room. She took a clipboard from the receptionist and scribbled onto it before returning it to the man tending the area before she made eye contact with Roy, recognizing him. She approached him and as she did, Silas left his seat. They met her halfway.

Exhaustion wore her features.

"She's in stable condition. Miss Marshall will make a full recovery with the proper care." She smiled. "She won't wake for another couple of hours. I ask that you let her rest. I suggest the same to you both."

"Can I see her?" asked Roy, heart pounding exhilarated.

It became obvious to him that the doctor took pity on him and he could only imagine his appearance. "One at a time, but for five minutes maximum. She's being transferred into a room, you can ask Ned up front where."

Roy looked to Silas. "Do you mind?"

"I have business here. You go on ahead."

Roy went to see Cecilia in her private room upstairs. He pulled up a chair next to the bed and stared at her sleeping form, the machinery beeping with every beat of her heart, her chest rising and falling underneath a blue hospital gown. He touched the inside of her hand, careful as he took it in his.

He never wanted to leave her side, reeling from the events of the last several hours.

Everything changed.

* * *

Silas spent little time in Cecilia's room after Roy left it to contemplate the things that he learned. He deconstructed the information to the molecule and rebuilt it to wrap his head around it with difficulty. Silas gestured Roy to follow him outside, to the hospital's main entrance to an area where he was allowed to light up a cigarette.

Roy stared at the burning tip as Silas took a drag. "You have questions."

"I want answers," said Roy, "and no more bullshit."

Silas took the cigarette from his lips. "I can't tell you her story. She decides what she does with her history and who she shares it with, but I can tell you mine. It isn't half as interesting, but it's a valid perspective, I suppose."

He waited for Silas to take another drag.

"My position as the Fuhrer's secretary was a shield to my true occupation. I was an Amestris spy. My grandmother was a Drachman immigrant, so I had roots in the country, strong enough roots to make my return under the right circumstances. The Fuhrer sent me in. Details aren't important to my tale as to his reasons, but I ended up working as a bodyguard for the royal family."

"For the purpose of continuing Amestris' conflict with Drachma?"

"That isn't important to my story." Silas flicked the ashes from the end of his cigarette. "Listen."

The classified files with his name on them were justified. A retired spy would have all information pertaining to their contributions destroyed, forever in the shadows as their occupation entailed. Any information that linked to that would be under the highest security.

"In the course of my job within the palace, Cecilia's mother grew fond of me. Our time was short, but she entrusted her daughters to before she died. Wanted them out of the palace before they were killed. After the assassination of the Drachman king, I escaped the county with both girls. I set them up with new identities and left them in Resenbool with a relative of theirs. My job was done as far as I knew, but after the youngest princess died, Cecilia came looking for me. Another identity later, she's my daughter. I raised her as best as I could, moving around to keep her safe."

He shrugged, not because he didn't care. Silas appeared to be beyond exhausted, as if he would never recover from this. He regarded Roy briefly.

"You gain nothing from knowing that Cecilia Warren is Caitriona Volkova. Trust me."

He smashed his cigarette on the railing in front of his.

"Why is she being hunted?" asked Roy. "People think that the Drachma princess is dead."

"A majority of theorist believe she's missing. That is the favorable opinion."

"That doesn't answer my question."

"Because she is the only person standing in the way of validating her uncle's rule. You may not be totally aware of the political situation with our neighbors up north, but the current king is considered a proxy ruler. He's warming the seat that is rightfully hers in the eyes of many and while he's warring with Amestris on the pretense of rescuing her from her Amestrian captives, he wants to have her killed. Killing her gives him the crown."

"Does the Fuhrer plan to reinstate her?"

"The Fuhrer is perfectly content in allowing her to live a civilian life hidden from her Drachman enemies."

"What does he gain from that?"

"Why are you asking? You've already said it."

Silas walked away from him. Roy started to follow, but made the connection after a step forward.

What would Amestris gain from keeping Cecilia?

A reason for war.

Still, why?

* * *

 **xl** : My P5 adventure turned into a nightmare and it got me killed. I'm up for workshop on Monday and I regret signing up for that date. I have two midterms on Wednesday, one of which I am terrified of because it's for Art History - and really why? Why did I take another Art History class? I'm supposed to be up in four hours. I also forgot that I was supposed to have this chapter posted earlier.

I'm having a bit of a crisis. Please ignore me.

I hope everyone is having a better time than I am.

Is anyone watching The Handmaid's Tale? Because fuck.

Thank you **mchurch1992** , **animexfreakxx** , **KimonoKay** , **spicyrash** , and **LateNightOwl** for you comments in the last chapter. I appreciate them.

If I can get my shit together soon, you will have a new chapter on **May 5th**.

Pray for me. I apologize now for disappearing before I do, if I do.

Thank you for reading.


	35. The Truth about Bitter Ends V

**Chapter 35** : The Truth about Bitter Ends V

Cecilia was a thousand nerves of pain when she regained consciousness in the unfamiliar hospital room.

"Silas," she rasped, eyes filling with tears. "Dad."

She dreamt a dark dream from which she feared she would never wake, but the pain made this real.

"I'm here," said Silas, appearing above her. He smiled. "You're okay." He brushed her hair back, leaning forward to kiss her forehead. "You're safe."

She let out a strangled sob. She needed those words more than breathing. His face hovering above her blurred and his expression mixed several emotions in one nearly overshadowing her relief.

Cecilia had every reason to be angry with Silas for lying to her about the Fuhrer's knowledge, but she tried to understand. It made perfect sense for the ruler of the country to be aware of the presence of the heir to another, especially after what she had done.

She couldn't be angry with Silas for trying to keep her safe, for doing as he had promised in order to keep her alive.

"Okay," started Silas, taking a step back, away from her hospital bed. "As soon as your doctor gives the okay, I'm having you moved to our townhouse in Central City. You'll be comfortable there; I've already hired a doctor and a few nurses to help you in your recovery. Once you're all better, we can work out what you can do. You can start over."

She nodded. She promised him. She wouldn't even fight him. This was a done deal, but...she wanted to spend all the time that she could with Roy. She wished to touch his face and apologize for having caused him grief. She wanted to kiss him one last time before leaving and hope she would remember the way his lips felt on hers for the rest of her life. She wouldn't get another chance like this, a love with a man like him. She hoped to preserve that feeling.

"Where's Roy?" she asked. "I want to see him. Is he here?"

"He's outside in the waiting room."

"Please call him."

Silas didn't budge.

"Silas."

And her heart sank, comprehending his immobility.

"Silas, please, I just—"

"No."

"No?" Anger flared in her, though he had denied her many things growing up, this was not anything. This was Roy. "What do you mean _no_?"

"Exactly that. It would complicate things." Silas straightened. "You see, you love him and he loves you. There is no space in your life to continue your relationship with the colonel. He is too known and you need to be hidden."

"Because the Fuhrer wants me hidden?"

He inhaled, confronted with the truth he kept from her. "You should understand my situation—"

"I want to see him," she repeated firmly. "This has nothing to do with my feelings for him. I want to say goodbye."

Silas opened the door to her room, saying nothing because as he exited, his father entered. She suppressed the urge to shout after him at the sight of her grandfather.

Wyatt sat down in the chair beside her bed after kissing her cheek. "I was worried to death when Silas told me the situation, but you're a willful one and I believed you would pull through. I'm happy nothing happened to you."

"I want to see Roy," she said.

"He's a nice fellow. I can see why you enjoy him, seems more your type than anyone you've ever introduced to me." Wyatt played coy, a mediator between her and Silas since she took a train from her aunt's home to the townhouse in Central City.

She didn't have the patience for it. "Are you on his side? Did you know the Fuhrer knew about me this whole time and he's made me think that he didn't?"

"Understand that we are first and foremost on _your_ side," started Wyatt, his expression soft and welcoming. "I did not know about the Fuhrer's knowledge, but I've spoken to Silas on the matter and I understood his reasons. I believe you understand them as well. You're being too harsh on him because you are not getting what you want."

"I want to say goodbye to Roy," she stated. "It isn't hard."

"And I would gladly allow it, however, I agree with your father's reasoning. If you see Roy, there will be no moving you. He will take you and swear to protect you always and you'll prefer that. I'm not saying that he won't do as he promises, but consider the danger that he'll be in as a result."

Cecilia dropped her gaze to her lap.

"You understand that, don't you?"

"I do."

"It would be best if you forwent the goodbyes."

She nodded.

Wyatt patted her hand. "I'll let you mull things over alone."

She bit her lip, her sinuses burning from the lack of release, and nodded once more. Her eyes stung with fresh tears. Soon as she heard the sound of the door sliding shut behind her grandfather, she cried unbidden. With nothing else to do but lament all the things that could've been, she decided that it was for the best.

* * *

 **Re-uploaded because the site was doing a thing.**

 **xl** : I have two more midterms on Sunday and I will hopefully come across a pocket of time to do more writing for this site.

I'm just about done with these "The Truth about Bitter Ends" chapters, after which I will be taking a formal break from the story to accumulate enough chapters to post weekly and focus on other neglected stories.

Promise to finish and post the next chapter on **5/12**.

Thank you everyone for reading, favoriting, and following. Many thanks to my reviewers. You humble me. I'm sorry that I haven't had the time to properly respond to each of you. Thank you so much!


	36. The Truth about Bitter Ends VI

**Chapter 36** : The Truth about Bitter Ends VI

"It's excessive to have my medications switched," said Cecilia, flipping through a copy of her grandfather's favorite novel—a crime story with a haunted detective reeling from the recent passing of his wife. "I gave you my word and that should be enough."

"I agree, it should, but how many times before have you given me your word and betrayed my trust," answered Silas. "I will admit that it is excessive, but I am doing it for your own good. I don't want this to be another Graham."

Another Graham.

Comparing Roy to Graham started to annoy her because of how often it came to the surface, especially after the Fuhrer spoke the same words to her at his party. She initially feared the possibility of Roy following in Graham's footsteps and attempting to turn her over for exploitation to reap a benefit for himself. Time changed her mind. She believed in Roy to the point that she knew he would not do anything that would bring her harm.

He wouldn't hurt her. He and Graham were like the differences between night and day.

Graham.

She met him while bussing tables at the restaurant where she worked. It was the middle of flu season and a handful of their staff had called in sick, including the only busboy on the night shift. She caught Graham watching her as she wiped circles over the surface of a table she'd finished clearing and stole a glance of his face, noting he was handsome.

He wasn't in uniform that evening when she approached his side asking if he wanted her to top his coffee off and she found out much later that he was a military man.

Graham nodded and very awkwardly added, "My date stood me up."

Her heart fluttered at the sudden advantage she possessed because whatever woman he planned to meet decided not to show up. She inwardly asked herself to relax and retained a cool expression.

She laughed lightly. "You'd be surprised how often that happens here. The club meeting gets here a little before nine if you'd like to join."

"Does it?" he asked, brown eyes going wide.

"No," she said, amused. "I'm joking."

"Oh!" And he laughed with an embarrassed flush coloring his cheeks. "That was—that was a great joke."

She refilled his coffee and walked back into the kitchen.

One of her co-workers, who had been serving tables and seen her chatting it up with Graham, teased her about the handsome loner in the couple's booth. The entire time she was helping in the back washing dishes, she thought about that man, knowing that she would not see him again as it was almost closing time when she left the kitchen to help the two servers wipe the tables down.

She found him sitting in the same place she'd left him. She approached him, fighting back a smile.

"Sorry to say, but we're about to close up," she told him.

"Oh, right, of course." He reached for his coat beside him, sliding out of his seat. She stepped aside to allow him to get out unobstructed and noticed he was about a foot taller than she, his body muscled underneath his dress shirt. He left money on the table to pay his bill. He turned back to her as he was leaving, surprising her. "Miss Sarah—"

She waved her hands in front of herself, knowing he got that name from the nametag pinned to her shirt. "My name isn't Sarah."

"It isn't?"

"It's Rhea."

"I'm Graham."

She smiled. "Nice to meet you."

He repeated the words. "Thank you for topping me off. The coffee."

"No problem."

Graham would henceforth drop by the restaurant on his own at least once every week and because she worked in the kitchen as a cook's assistant, she had several members of the restaurant's staff delivering messages between them.

The man she met that day, the one that courted her for weeks before finally asking her on a formal date, the one who loved her and promised to marry her—she didn't think he'd betray her.

But…when she sat him down and told her story from start to finish, he held her tremulous form in his arms rubbing circles on her back. A day later, Silas appeared at her doorway, blond hair askew and the dress shirt underneath his coat stained in blood. She had never seen Silas as angry as he had been that day when he vehemently questioned her sanity.

"He went straight to the Fuhrer's office, Caitriona!"

She recalled the weight of her heart increase and shouted, "What did you do to him?"

"I did what needed to be done," Silas stated, silencing her.

She tried to run past him as if she knew where she would have to go to see Graham one last time, but Silas blocked her path even as she pummeled him, screeching incoherently, crying without the promise of conclusion. She felt the pain of Graham's loss and the cruelty of her father, but the consequences of Graham's decision, she felt those a week later bleeding out in a cold alleyway wishing for a quick death.

"Why is it always Graham?" asked Cecilia, chasing the memory of him from her mind.

Silas approached the side of her bed, putting his hand over the back of her head to draw her close enough to kiss the top of her head. "I'm sorry it sounds like I am constantly throwing that in your face, but those were trying times. Graham was a mistake and I warned you about your involvement with him."

"Roy would never do what Graham did, you know that."

"Even so, you cannot be together, Cath."

"I understand that."

"I worry that you truly don't." Silas released her. "Please accept that this is the best course of action and that I am sorry that it is." He handed her that morning's antibiotics. "Drink up and get some rest."

She stared down at the medicine. "I'm not going to give up on him."

Silas sighed. "Don't be stubborn."

"I'll go away with you. I'll do whatever it takes to be safe," she assured, "but I'm not going to give up on Roy. I can wait. I can be patient. There will be a time when I'll be able to live a normal life. I believe that." She lowered her eyes. "I have to."

"And if he gives up on you? If he falls in love with someone else and starts a family?"

"I'll be happy for him."

"And what if your feelings change?"

"I don't know, but this is how I feel now...I don't know about the future. I don't know if being apart will make my feelings go away, but I know, right now, that I'm in love with him. Just as you said."

Silas nodded.

He stayed for another half hour before keeping his conversation going with the doctor in charge outside her room's door. It wouldn't be long before she was discharged.

Her time was running out.

Cecilia entertained a simple plan to say goodbye to Roy without Silas's knowledge. Silas won over the whole staff taking care of her and all of them happily accommodated his requests. It took her a few days to memorize the routines and schedules of the nurses who administered her medication, particularly the painkillers that put her to sleep.

Silas visited at specific hours. Wyatt dropped in less because he wasn't able to leave his practice, but he called in advance to let her know if she should expect him since she regained consciousness.

Cecilia recalled the frequency of Roy's visits as if they were memories from a distant past being filtered through a thick fog in her mind. Bits and pieces of them would reemerge in her head as the haze left her brain and she would lay in bed assembling them like a puzzle.

Roy arrived at her hospital room minutes after the strongest of her medications was administrated. The time it took for him to walk from the entrance of the hospital to her room was enough for the morphine to take effect. Her lids were too heavy to pull back and her mouth felt as if it was glued shut. She tried hard, on several occasions, to give Roy some indication that she was okay, conscious for the first several minutes of his stay, hung on every word before she plummeted into a seemingly bottomless sleep.

She had become a part of his daily routine. Every day, she listened to Roy talk. She felt the heat of his body sink into her hand from the tips of his fingers. She longed to see his face and watch his lips move as he spoke words that bounced off the walls of her mind like soft echoes.

He often talked about his day, but the details were skimp when it came to the classified work, but he spoke about his interactions with his subordinates. He unburdened himself to her as if it were enough to bridge the gap between them and his sincerity amplified her own longing to connect.

"I wanted to tell you these things under different circumstances," she'd heard him say that during his last visit. She recalled the long pause and the feathery touch of his fingers on the inside of her palm. "I…Ceci—Caitriona—I don't know what to call you. So, tell me."

She wanted to tell him that the sound of her name leaving his lips warmed her heart. She wished she could hold his hand in hers and kiss his lips as she said goodbye. She never planned to tell him to wait for her because her future had never been certain and making long-term plans had been useless, but she hated the idea of telling herself not to either.

The uncertainty of the future frightened her more than ever.

Cecilia pushed it from her mind. She checked the clock on the wall. Silas and her doctor parted ways. Her father slipped into her room one last time to take his jacket from the couch and kiss her goodbye.

The nurse wouldn't enter her bedroom until another half hour, allowing her a sufficient amount of time to rummage through the pack she asked her grandfather to bring from their home in Central city. She tugged free the journal she'd kept as a young girl and set it on the bed before storing the bag in the small closet.

She waited for the nurse to enter the room on the dot with a tiny bottle of the clear painkiller and a new syringe in the pockets of her green uniform. The nurse smiled as she approached Cecilia's IV drop, taking one of the transparent tubes in her hand for a passing second, making certain that everything was in order.

"Excuse me," started Cecilia, observing the nurse as she ripped the syringe from its packaging. "Would it be possible for you to hold onto something for me?"

"I don't see why not," answered the nurse.

Cecilia presented her with the journal and the copy of her grandfather's favorite book.

The nurse hesitated. "Your journal? But won't you need it?"

"I haven't written anything in it for some time," she replied.

"Are you certain? I thought I saw you writing in it when I came inside yesterday."

"My grammar at ten was atrocious. I couldn't resist revising it."

"Oh, that's right, I heard you're a writer from your father," said the nurse. "Do you have any books published?"

Cecilia laughed. "No, that'd be horrifying. I'm a terrible writer."

"No need to be modest." The nurse injected a dose of medicine into her drip and Cecilia leaned back against her pillows. The nurse took the items from Cecilia's hands gently. "Just hold onto it?"

"Yes." The effects of the drug washed over her quick. "My boyfriend will come looking for them. The book is his."

"Okay, sweetheart."

She closed her eyes and succumbed to the medication. This was as much as she could do.

* * *

Cecilia ached as she stood next to her hospital bed staring at the stained dress that she wore for the Fuhrer's party. She shut her small suitcase as soon as her grandfather entered the room to grab her luggage from the bed.

"Ready?" he asked.

She checked the hour, but Roy would be at his office. "What about Roy?"

"Silas will handle it."

"How?"

"You know how, Cat."

She dreaded thinking about it, but she couldn't stop it from pervading her brain. If only the circumstances were different. If only she wasn't who she was.

Cecilia followed Wyatt out of the room into a corridor where a pair of hired bodyguards waited for them. There were more of them outside, walking with them to the car. They opened the back doors for them. Her grandfather went around to the other side. He was seated when she took a sudden step back, her body betraying the command of her brain in one last attempt to run, but she bumped into the hard chest of the man standing behind her.

The pain radiated through her body long after they had left the front of the hospital.

She stared out the window, watching the buildings blur into dulled colors and give way to nature as their driver took them to their private townhouse.

"We haven't discussed your future," started Wyatt. "Would you like to complete your medical training? You have some years to go, but you're capable."

"I don't know what the right path to take is."

"Do you remember how badly you wanted to practice? It happened after Arisha."

"Becoming a doctor was Arisha's dream, not mine."

"Even so, you loved it."

"We can't always get what we want no matter how much we love it."

Wyatt smiled. "That's right, we can't, but have you truly given up?"

She made herself comfortable in her seat, adjusting the pillows provided for her comfort against the door and rested her head on one. Her vision blurred with tears.

"This is too cruel."

"It truly is," said Wyatt. "We can't always have what we want."

Her fingers twitched as his hand fell atop hers and she turned in his direction. "Will Silas speak to him?"

"There won't be any need. He will learn your fate when he goes back to the hospital."

"And then that's it?" Her eyes started to water. "Nothing more?"

"Nothing more. You understand that your identities as Cecilia Warren and Odessa Franklin were both compromised. As such, Cecilia and Odessa must die."

"Yes." She sniffled. "Even so, I can't forgive him. Silas."

"You understand that he is doing this to protect you."

"I understand, but he has done this through lies. He has lied to me for so long and I still accepted that I had to let Cecilia and Odessa die. I only wanted one thing and he denied it. I only wanted to say goodbye to Roy, but he took that from me."

She turned her face away, focusing on the scenes outside the moving vehicle.

"That didn't stop you."

"What?"

Wyatt smiled. "The detective book. Quite an interesting book to leave behind for him, isn't it?"

"Will you tell Silas?"

"What is done is done."

He offered her hand a gentle squeeze, but her heart ached, slowly breaking to pieces


	37. The Truth about Bitter Ends VII

**Chapter 37** : The Truth about Bitter Ends VII

Roy brought flowers to his visit, finding it unfortunate that he didn't know which were Cecilia's favorites. He took the usual route from the hospital entrance to the floor where Cecilia's room was located. The usual guard wasn't posted outside for him to annoy with a greeting and he entered the room unhindered.

He halted. The bed was made. The sun shone in bright from the open window with the drapes shimmering in the breeze. It smelled clean as if it had never before inhabited. He entered further in, leaving the bouquet at the foot of the bed as he turned to search the closet for Cecilia's things, but like the room, it was empty.

"Have you lost your way?"

Roy looked to the doorway to see a nurse. He recognized her as the one that was on shift when he visited and he saw a similar recognition in her expression turn into an awkwardness that alarmed him.

"What happened to the patient in this room? Was she moved?"

"Oh." Her expression fell. "Please wait here."

Roy stood there confused until the nurse returned with a leather-bound journal and a beat-up paperback book that she presented to him.

"She would have wanted you to have this."

"Would?" He took it. His attention hung on every word that left her lips. "Did something happen?"

"I was told there were complications overnight," said the nurse. And he wished she stopped talking. "It was after I finished my shift. She passed away this morning. I'm sorry for your loss."

No.

 _No._

"Complications?"

"You would be better off asking the doctor for specifics, but she's not coming in today. Please excuse me, I have a few more rounds to make."

No.

The disbelief shook him to his very core. He went straight to an information desk to ask after Cecilia, but the woman behind the desk offered her condolences as well. He tried calling Silas from the public phones, but his secretary answered, informing him that Silas would not be available for some time.

"Where's Cecilia?" He surprised himself when he shouted into the phone.

The man on the other side lowered his voice to a whisper, "I'm sorry, Colonel Mustang."

"I want to see her! Tell him! Is he there?"

In the background, he heard a familiar voice, "Is that him?"

"Yes sir," the assistant replied, before the line was disturbed by a bit of static.

"Mustang," came Silas's voice with a sigh.

"Where is she?" demanded Roy.

"She's gone. Dead this morning."

"I don't believe you."

"Look, you foolish man, I don't care!" shouted Silas. "Cecilia is gone! You'll never see her again! _I'll_ never see her again."

"Where are you hiding her? I'll find her."

"This is useless."

The line went dead. Roy attempted to call three more times, but Silas wasn't answering. He refused to believe it, but there was a brokenness in Silas's voice that couldn't be denied.

Cecilia was dead.

Roy left the hospital dumbfounded and drove to their shared home.

Roy ventured inside as silent as a shadow, the keys barely clinking as he drew them out from his pocket and his footsteps failing to register sound against the floorboards. He sank down into a seat on the couch and stared absently at the mantle. The emotion crept through his blood system and his body grew cold. The ache in his chest had turned into a hole and only after he sat in the living room surrounded by the fading smell of Cecilia's perfume, the throw pillows on the couch around him carried the scent of her shampoo and body wash, a cocktail of fruits, had reality finally sunken its claws.

Sadness tinged in anger. As it suffused him, the emotion stinging in his eyes, the anger flaring in his soul, he kicked the coffee table hard, knocking over the ceramic vase in the center. He heard it roll and crash, breaking to pieces on the other side. He cursed beneath his breath, each time kicking the side of the table in front of him, damning his uselessness, thinking about everything that he hadn't done. Thinking of all the things that he'd never be able to say. It hit him hard to realize that he felt this strongly, though he had suspected it for some time that Cecilia had invaded his body, pervaded his mind, until she reached his heart.

He convinced her to go to that damn party to make connections for himself. She was scared. The whole time she had been scared, but she handled it. She put on a strong act and went out to help him. Silas told him that she was willing to do anything for him simply because he wanted it enough. She loved him that much. He understood now. He couldn't doubt her anymore, knowing exactly who she was and the sort of dangers that chased her. She loved him enough to put herself at risk.

He would never thank her for it. He could never tell her that he wanted her to stay, that he wanted to love her, and that he hoped to create a nation where she would feel safe.

Roy wallowed in the harsh emotions, wiping the tear that rolled down his cheek furiously. He paved the way to her death and he didn't deserve to mourn her, let alone think of her. Thinking those thoughts reminded him of the items the nurse gave him before leaving and he left his seat to retrieve it from his car.

He brought them back into the house. The paperback was a crime story about a detective pursuing the people responsible for the death of his wife. He dropped it on the coffee table's surface. It looked to have been read about a hundred times at least given the brittleness of the cover and the softness of the pages. His focus went to the journal. He undid the leather clasp, opening it up to find a younger girl's messy handwriting. In the upper right part of the page was a date, many years back. If Cecilia had not lied about her age, she would've been ten when she started writing on the unlined paper.

 _I had that nightmare again._

 _I can't go to sleep anymore._

 _Everything is quiet here._

 _I don't like it._

 _It reminds me of home._

 _I hated it there._

 _Silas just left us here. He said it was to be safe, but I don't feel it._

 _I'm scared because I wake up and I see him there._

 _I scream out and I just get told that it's okay._

 _It isn't._

 _I'm afraid._

He turned to the next page and found that entry as well as the others that followed were short, each one started with the same sentence in different variations. He skimmed through all of the pages, following the day to day progression of Cecilia's thoughts until they seemed to have come to an abrupt end.

Her last entry was on a wrinkled page filled with Arisha's name, ink smudged in the places where her tears had fallen.

 _I couldn't save her. I couldn't do anything._

A droplet fell atop the surface of his name, the ink smudging. He sniffled, closing the journal shut to pick up the book.

Why this book? He had never seen Cecilia reading it, yet it appeared worn.

He opened it to the front page and inside it found Cecilia's neat handwriting, reading: _I love you, Roy Mustang_. He flipped through the first few pages to find the confession repeated in all three hundred and sixty-five pages. In the very final page, she signed her name, her real name: _Always, Caitriona Mikhailovna Volkova_.

 **PART I END**

* * *

 **xl** : This chapter marks the end of the first part of the story. It is safe to say that we are halfway through.

Now, I'm going to be putting this story on hiatus while I organize the second half of the story and start writing it. Hopefully, when I come back, I'll be able to post weekly updates.

Until then, feel free to leave speculations about the future. We are venturing into canon territory. I'll most likely be following the Brotherhood anime, by the way. (And I might have to re-watch it to help with the organization.)

Many thanks to everyone that has read the story up until this point. I hope the second half is much better than the first and that you'll stick around for it.

Thank you for reading.

P.S. Please read the announcement on my profile for a little update on stuff in case you haven't dropped by my wordpress.


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